


gleaming darkness, luminous night

by MistressEast



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fae, Banter, Blood, Blood and Injury, Coma, Confessions, Consent Issues, Fade to Black, Fight Scenes, Getting Together, Goro is still Shido's son but was adopted much sooner, Happy Ending, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Making Out, Minor Character Death, Seelie Court, Sexual Tension, Slow Dancing, Sparring, Violent Thoughts, akira is a little too chill with being killed but what else is new, akira's backstory!! finally, and thats on me as an author, and the most important tag of all:, bad times are had, but for magical soul bonding so it's complicated, cant believe i havent tagged that already, cheesy action dialogue, chess ;), competent women saving the day as usual, death mention, diet psychic linking, except im making everything up, first chapter is a lot of exposition, goro is not doing well folks, goro is still not doing well folks, if you want realistic Fae Lore look elsewhere, if youve read foi you know i fuckign love stars, im just now realizing that ohya is her last name and i feel really dumb, ive always known how the magic works but it hasnt really come up until now, lots of magic, memory sharing, of multiple kinds, plotting regicide with the bae nbd, references to suicide missions, repurposing personas for fae mythology, shido drags goro around and it's really mean, so many Capitalized Nouns, the corrupt government and persecution and plague stuff all feels very timely, the darkening is stolen shamelessly from corpse party, the lore come out: does mistresseast think too much about this fae au??, two dudes screaming at each other in a library, unhealthy thoughts about death, vague magic system, yaldy doesnt have a humanlike appearance so hes just a guy, you know what I mean ;), zero feet apart bc well you know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2020-12-16 17:54:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 85,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21040328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressEast/pseuds/MistressEast
Summary: Several thousand years ago, King Yaldaboath purged the Unseelie from the Summer Kingdom and sealed the Barrier, permanently separating the two realms and sparing the Seelie from the Darkening, a wasting disease spread by the Unseelie. The Seelie lived in peace under the King's rule until, mysteriously, the Darkening began to return, ravaging outlying towns and stirring panic everywhere.Tucked away in the Summer Court, Goro has more immediate concerns: pleasing his cold and duplicitous father, maintaining his toothless and friendly facade, and hiding his own treasonous aspirations. The arrival of an enigmatic new page certainly doesn't help things. Akira is magnetic and unusually interested in him and Goro finds himself increasingly distracted. When the Darkening comes to their front door, Goro and Akira set out to discover the cause of the outbreak, but the answers they find throw everything about the world as they know it into question.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic owes its life to [where the day meets the night (that's where you'll find me) by ThirtySixSaveFiles](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18411917), which you should all read bc it's wonderful. Basically I read that and thought "i want to write that exactly but a little to the left" and now I'm very far to the left and this fic isn't really that similar at all, except for the basics. This is a WIP but I wanted to start posting chapters to stay motivated since it looks like it's going to be pretty long. 
> 
> Since it's a WIP, everything is subject to editing, but I'll put a note if I change anything major.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

“My apologies.”

Goro blinks numbly at his armful of books and parchment, now scattered on the floor at his feet. The person he ran into quickly kneels down, ducking his dark, tousled head as he begins to gather the fallen books.

“Ah–” Goro jerks slightly and drops to the floor as well, reaching for a roll of paper. “There’s no need. I wasn’t watching the path.”

A low chuckle and a pale hand extends to carefully retrieve Goro’s pen, the delicate swirled glass thankfully unbroken. “How could you with all of this stacked in your arms?”

“No, no, I should have–” Goro looks up, hastily compiling his materials in front of him, and finds himself met with a piercing silver gaze. “Been paying attention.”

The unfamiliar young man collects the books in his arms and stands, offering Goro a hand up. After a second of dumb staring, Goro accepts, allowing the stranger to pull him to his feet. He’s wearing gloves, of course, so it’s fine. As he adjusts his grip on his scrolls, he scans the boy curiously. He’s about Goro’s height with wild black hair and a neat page’s uniform. He balances all of Goro’s books with ease and, once Goro is upright, passes his pen over casually.

“Thank you,” Goro says, taking the pen and tucking it behind his ear for the time being. The boy’s strange eyes follow the movement. “I’ll take those back as well,” he gestures to the books.

“I can carry them for you,” the boy offers. “Where are you headed?”

“That’s not necessary–”

“It’s no trouble,” the boy insists.

Goro grits his teeth behind his smile. “Very well, then. I’m on my way to the Archives.”

The boy’s lips curl up at the corners. “How fortunate! I am as well.”

Goro casts a pointed look around the open-air corridor. “You were headed the opposite direction.”

“Yes, well–” Looking a little sheepish, the boy tugs on one of his errant curls. “I’m unfamiliar with the Palace. I’m actually quite lost.”

Laughing would be mean, so Goro doesn’t, but it’s a near thing. He clears his throat. “Follow me, then,” he says pleasantly, resuming his path with quick, efficient steps.

The boy falls in line easily. “My hero,” he smiles. “I’m lucky to have met you.”

“Perhaps we could have done without crashing into each other,” Goro mumbles.

The boy chuckles. “We must both have a lot on our minds.”

These days, who doesn’t? Goro glances out at the courtyard and finds it empty of the usual sunning and frolicing Fae folk. Surely, the Grand Lawn will still be bustling with activity, but smaller annexes like this have grown quieter and quieter over the past few weeks. The Summer Court is still bright, still festive, still ringing with music and laughter, but it’s strained. And people are starting to notice.

“You said you’re new here,” Goro says, shaking his head free of dark thoughts. “Are you a new archival assistant?”

“No, sir,” the boy shoots him a canny look. “I’ve come to study under a member of the Royal Court.”

Goro raises his eyebrows as they round a corner and enter a stone corridor leading to an enormous set of stained glass double doors. “Indeed? Someone as young as yourself–you must be very impressive.”

“I hate to disappoint you, but I’m nothing of the sort.” Before Goro can reach for the door handle, the boy hurries ahead and grasps it himself, pulling the ornate door open with ease. “After you.”

Goro smiles in thanks and regards him suspiciously from the corner of his eye as he sweeps past.

The main section of the Archives is huge and airy, ceiling soaring high above them and glittering with stained glass murals of mythological events. The walls are lined with clear glass windows, many of them open to allow in the sweet-scented breeze. Short bookshelves populate the space, stocked with recent records and current events, while the older records are stored in the labyrinthine back hallways and rooms that snake away from the main section. Goro spends a lot of time in here for work.

As does Sae Nijiima, who starts gesturing him over to her table as soon as he enters. She’s sitting across from a familiar figure, who stands as Goro approaches, the mysterious boy following closely behind.

“My prince,” Count Yoshida greets respectfully, bowing as Goro deposits his scrolls in front of Sae.

“Count Yoshida,” Goro returns, dipping his head before turning to the boy and retrieving his books. “I’m glad to see you’ve returned.” Indeed, the Lower Court has barely known a day of reason since Yoshida went to visit the Outlands.

“And I am glad to be back.” Yoshida glances between Goro and the boy behind him, eyebrows raised. “I see you have already met my newest acquaintance.”

Goro blinks, nearly losing his grip on the books, and turns to the boy, who smiles back placidly. When he said he was studying under someone in the Court, Goro never considered it would be Yoshida, one of the few nobles he can actually stand. Yoshida never takes pages. Even his hired staff is small compared to most of his colleagues’. “I’m afraid we haven’t been officially introduced,” he says awkwardly, settling the books on the table.

“Yes, we simply ran into each other on the way here,” the boy agrees before bowing low. “My name is Akira Kurusu, page to Duke Yoshida.” He straightens and fixes that avid grey stare on Goro again. “I apologize for any disrespect. I didn’t know I was in the presence of royalty.”

Goro can’t tell if he’s lying. He seems earnest, but everyone with even a passing connection to the Summer Court knows who Goro is. Archduke Shido’s pity project. But if Yoshida picked him up in the Outlands, perhaps…. “There was no disrespect. I am Goro Akechi, adopted son of Archduke Masayoshi Shido. _Prince_ is merely an...affectionate nickname within the court. In truth, I hold no title.”

“I see.” Akira’s eyes glitter in the light from the windows. “Then I hope you won’t mind if I call you that as well, my prince.”

Goro blinks. “I...don’t mind.”

“Akechi–” Sae speaks up, sounding irritated. “The Dawn Ordinances, they’re not all–”

“Here, Counselor Sae–” Goro turns away from Akira’s intense gaze to present one of the scrolls to Sae. “The amendments were filed separately, and this one was made into its own Ordinance two years ago.”

She nods, spreading the scroll out in front of her and scribbling away. As a junior member of the Counsel, the primary law-making body of the Seelie Kingdom, Sae is always busy researching, compiling, and debating with her fellow Counselors. Goro helps her out and, in exchange, she teaches him the intricacies of the Court and connects him to valuable resources. Even if the day he might become a member of the Court is a long way off, Goro wants to be absolutely prepared.

At least, that’s what he tells Sae.

“I came by because I wanted to introduce my new protege to Counselor Sae,” Yoshida explains quietly, “but we can come back when she’s not so busy.”

“No, it’s fine.” Sae makes a mark and sets her pen aside, rising fluidly. Her smile is professional but kind as she inclines her head to Akira. “I am Sae Niijima, member of the Counsel of the Summer Court. It’s always a pleasure to meet Duke Yoshida’s associates. He doesn’t accept students often, so count yourself lucky.”

“I do, Counselor,” Akira responds, bowing back. “I am Akira Kurusu. I’m honored to meet you.”

In general, Counselors keep to themselves, locked away in their towers, gathering knowledge, until forced to venture out for Counsel sessions or official events. Sae, with her beauty and penchant for mingling with the common folk, has something of a reputation as the idol of the Counsel. Surely Akira has heard of her since arriving at the court.

“I’ve already met your sister,” Akira continues.

Makoto Niijima, Sae’s younger sister and only family, is Goro’s age and apprenticed to a member of the Upper Court, training for a career in politics. Goro doesn’t see her much. He has the strangest inkling that she doesn’t like him.

“We always need more young people in the court,” Sae says. “Fae live a long time, but not forever.”

“Indeed, Counselor,” Yoshida agrees heartily. “And Akira is incredibly sharp. Expect wonderful things from him.”

Goro watches Akira carefully, but he doesn’t squirm under the praise, merely clasps his hands behind his back and bows his head deferentially to Yoshida. As though he can sense Goro looking at him, he glances up, and Goro turns away, cursing himself as soon as he does.

“We’ll leave you to your work, Counselor,” Yoshida finishes up. He bows again to the both of them. “My prince.”

Sae and Goro lower their heads in farewell as Yoshida leads Akira out of the archives. Goro watches the back of Akira’s head until the door closes, obscuring him.

“Sit down,” Sae orders briskly, getting back to her notes. “This proposal needs to be airtight by morning.”

Goro takes his place across from her and gets to work, pushing thoughts of Yoshida’s new page from his mind in favor of dates and legal minutiae.

* * *

Night falls properly only every four weeks in the Seelie lands. For twelve uninterrupted hours, the suns dip completely below the horizon, allowing the sky to finally darken completely instead of the vibrant twilight that signifies the rest period for the remainder of the month. The absence of the suns is very dangerous for Seelie folk, so, since time immemorial, the Lantern Banquet has been held every month to offset the True Night.

Every Seelie settlement participates in the monthly banquet, but none to the extent of the Summer Court itself. The Lantern Banquet is an unfailingly lavish affair, fairy lights in prismatic colors decorating every corner, floating over everyone’s heads in a sea of illumination. The Upper Nobles take turns hosting the monthly event, each trying to outdo each other in terms of food and entertainment. Music, dancing, and general carousing are staples at every Banquet, and every member of the court is invited. The capital city has its own Banquet, but the festivities within the Summer Court itself are legendary.

Goro goes to every single one and hates every single minute of it.

His presence it necessary. Not only is he the precious adopted son of the wildly popular Archduke, but he’s well-known in the court for his good looks and polite attitude. People expect to see him. People think he has a good time cavorting with them. He can’t afford for them to know the truth.

His father attends as well and revels in the debauchery, in the attention lavished upon him. Goro avoids him whenever possible.

Tonight is no exception.

The suns are gone, leaving the sky a deep indigo jewelled with tiny stars, but the sight is almost completely blocked by the ceiling of glowing lanterns hovering above them. The Grand Lawn is a riot of color, Fae milling about in eye-catching outfits, fountains spraying patterns of glittering water, long tables laden with elaborate food displays.

In the center of the festivities, a dance troupe twirls and leaps expertly, pulling people up to dance every so often. The dancers are draped in revealing gauze costumes, bodies painted with glittering powder, anklets jangling rhythmically in time to the lively music. The gathered audience looks on with undisguised desire.

Goro hangs back from the activity, sitting primly at a small table and chatting amiably with anyone who passes by, mentally going over budget sheets. Sae wandered off at some point or another, arguing vehemently with another Counselor about something work-related. Every once in a while, Goro spies Makoto through the crowd, usually alongside Duke Okamura’s daughter.

Haru Okumura holds no title, but she’s an important figure in the court, a potentially valuable asset to anyone wishing to get in good with a duke. Goro tries to stay out of that drama.

Interestingly enough, Goro has seen Akira a couple of times, trailing after Yoshida. Yoshida doesn’t always attend the Banquets, but he apparently wanted to introduce his young protege and decided to brave the rambunctious party.

Akira is hard to miss, his dark hair and distinctive slouch giving him away against the sea of ornately decorated Fae officials. Seelie Fae can have dark hair, as evidenced by Makoto’s brunette bob, but rarely does Goro see such a deep black.

He catches himself glancing up for a glimpse of the sunless sky between the floating lanterns.

Akira’s eyes are unusual as well, but his uniqueness is apparently working in his favor as he’s quickly surrounded by tittering young female pages. When a girl in a tight lilac dress slips her arm into Akira’s, Goro pushes himself to his feet to go get some food.

He returns to his table to find it occupied.

“Good evening, my prince,” Ann smiles beguilingly, crossing her long legs in such a way that the trailing fabric of her dance costume flutters to the side, exposing her thighs. Her long blond hair is styled intricately atop her head, glittering with pins and little bells. “It’s been a while.” She bats her eyelashes theatrically, makeup shining in the lantern light.

“Indeed it has,” Goro smiles back at her, relieved. “I didn’t know you were going to be here tonight.”

She laughs genuinely, the sound a little nasally compared to her sultry dancer voice. “I missed you, Goro!” she launches herself to her feet and wraps her arms around his neck, squeezing just a bit too hard. “I worried about you all during the tour!”

“Worried about me?” Goro hugs her back with one arm, using the other to balance his plate. “Why?”

“Why not?” she pulls back, eyes sparkling. “I can’t bear to think of you all alone in this place!”

“I’m hardly alone,” Goro protests, leading her back to the table.

“Oh, those people you work with don’t count,” Ann says dismissively, settling back down with much less seduction than before. She grabs a pastry from the plate Goro offers her and stuffs it whole into her mouth. “You need friends who won’t sell you for the right price,” she continues, voice muffled and crumbs dropping to the table.

“I’m doing just fine, Ann,” Goro says, propping his chin in his hand and watching her tuck in.

Ann Takamaki is a Fae of uncommon beauty. Slender and graceful with a head of radiant blonde hair, she caught the eye of a lecherous minor official in the Summer Court while attending the capital’s prestigious dance school. Goro helped her out of a nasty situation and she declared herself his best friend. She’s currently the headliner of one of the kingdom’s most popular dance troupes and while she travels often, the troupe frequently returns for events in the capital. Goro usually follows her circuit pretty faithfully, but he must have lost track recently, with everything else going on.

“You are not,” she says firmly. “Look at those shadows.” Reaching across the table, she prods the area under Goro’s left eye with one manicured nail. “I bet Sae has you running around like a pixie at dawn. I won’t have it. Your looks are all you have going for you.”

Goro laughs, catching her hand in his and giving it a placating pat. “No, it’s not Sae, I swear. We’re all busy at the moment.” He feels his expression droop, remembering why they’re so busy these days.

Ann tilts her head before her eyes darken in understanding. “Right.” Her fingers twitch in Goro’s grasp, curling around his hand in response. Her skin is warm through the thin leather of his glove. “I guess everyone does look more tired than usual. Even Makoto and Haru seem stressed.”

“Everyone’s trying to pretend they’re not worried,” Goro says lowly. “But there have been three cases in the capital now. It’s impossible to ignore.”

“I saw a lot of it on tour,” Ann responds, leaning forward slightly to be heard. “Well, I didn’t _see_ it, obviously, but I saw buildings blocked off, even burned down sometimes in the outlands.”

Goro frowns. He knew it was getting bad, but hearing it firsthand is still unsettling. “You should stay here for a while.”

“Yeah, the Palace event coordinator wants us in residence for a while.” She smiles. “So I’ll be here if you need something, my prince.”

Goro blinks. “Need something?”

Giving his hand one last squeeze, Ann leans back in her chair. “Don’t play dumb. I’m not blind, Goro.”

“I don’t follow.”

“I saw you!” She snags a few pins out of her hair, letting several locks fall down over her tapered ears. “Staring at tall, dark, and handsome over there!”

Instantly, Goro feels his cheeks heat up. “What are you talking about?” he asks, too quickly.

She laughs obnoxiously, tossing the pins on the table and grabbing a few more. “He’s hard to miss.” To demonstrate, she gestures in the direction of the makeshift dance floor, where Akira is indeed standing out as he twirls with one of the dancers.

Goro can’t help but stare. Akira isn’t an especially proficient dancer, but his dance partner is laughing, clearly having a wonderful time, Akira’s hands steady on her waist even as he stumbles through the steps.

“Like that!”

Ann’s triumphant voice calls him back and he glares at her. “You’re imagining things.”

“Oh no I’m not, I know you and I’ve _never_ seen you look like that!” She runs both hands through her loose hair, shaking it out until the big blond curls fall over her shoulders. “I saw you staring at him while I was dancing. Every time I got back to my position, you were still staring.”

Goro furrows his eyebrows. Was he really watching Akira for that long? Who else might have noticed?

“So what’s the deal?” Ann asks, bracing her elbows on the table and leaning forward, nosy as always.

“There’s no deal,” Goro answers. “He’s Count Yoshida’s new page and that’s all there is to it.”

She quirks an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“Nonsense.”

“Wha–it isn’t–”

“Anyway!” Ann chirps, shooting to her feet. “Let’s dance, your highness!”

Goro gapes at her. “Oh, no, I’m not dressed to dance this time, Ann, I’m just–”

“That’s easy to fix,” she insists, bustling over and tugging him to his feet.

Goro can do little to resist as she pulls at his formal robes. Truthfully, he only planned to attend the Banquet for a few hours before turning in. As long as everyone saw and spoke to him at least once, his continued presence wasn’t required. Shido certainly doesn’t care where he is as long as Goro isn’t embarrassing him.

But as Ann discards his heavy outer robe and ties his hair back with a ribbon stolen from her own costume, he foresees his night ending later than he planned.

Much later, apparently. It’s barely a few hours until dawn when he finally manages to get away. It’s not that he doesn’t like dancing with Ann, but she can keep going and going, blessed with the Arts of Grace and Breath, while Goro’s Arts lie in other areas, none of which are conducive to dancing all night.

Fortunately, he makes it to the Celestial Tower before the suns rise. The Tower is an elaborate tool in the archival complex, fallen into disuse over the past few thousand years. The massive celestial compass used to serve a very specific purpose, but after certain events, and due to the fact that it could only be utilized on True Nights, it was all but abandoned. Goro loves it.

The machinery is outdated and complex, creaking in protest as Goro cranks the huge metal dome open to reveal the rounded window that comprises the top of the tower. The window offers an uninterrupted view of the night sky, velvet blue reaching in all directions, scattered with clusters of glowing stars and punctuated by the gleaming sliver of the moon. The ancient telescope in the middle of the room can be adjusted to point at any specific spot in the sky, which triggers the giant mechanisms lining the tower walls. Ostensibly, you can use the device to find the exact positioning of any star in relation to the stars around it. Seers used to use the information to focus their visions, back when the Seelie still relied on imprecise Arts like Sight. Now they know that no one can predict the future, so the Celestial Tower stands empty most of the time, but every month Goro likes to come up here.

Sometimes he examines the equipment, testing it and making notes. Other times he simply looks at the sky.

Tonight is one of those nights.

Standing beside the telescope, Goro tips his head back and takes in the sea of twinkling lights above him. He loves the sunlight, of course. As a Seelie Fae, he can’t live without it. Darkness is dangerous to his kind, and direct exposure for too long can drain their magical energy, but at times like this, wrapped in soft shadows and blinking in the bare face of the heavens, Goro is almost envious of the Unseelie.

Such thoughts could be considered treason if ever spoken aloud. Mention of the Unseelie Kingdom has been taboo since the Barrier was sealed and the two realms were severed, and that was nearly two thousand years ago now. Very few Fae even remember a time when the realms coexisted. Goro doesn’t, but he’s read stories.

According to legend, the Unseelie are violent and cruel, passing power through murder and consuming Fae blood to grow stronger. Reports of their appearances vary wildly; some describe them as unsettlingly beautiful, others assert that they’re gruesomely hideous. Black eyes that swallow light, sharp claws that rend Seelie skin like paper, hissing voices that can crack glass, the embellishments never end. Some stories claim that they’re darkness incarnate and that’s why they spread the Darkening.

The Darkening: a disease with no discernable contagion factor that slowly saps a Fae’s magic the same way true darkness does. Once the Darkening is contracted, no amount of sunlight or Healing can save you. Several thousand years ago, the king of the Seelie, Yaldaboath, drove the Unseelie from their lands and sealed the barrier between the two realms, completely cutting off all contact between the Seelie and Unseelie Kingdoms, and the Darkening disappeared. Every once in a while, an unlucky soul would contract it, but it was always considered a freak accident. Nature works in mysterious ways, after all. Until recently.

Reports of the Darkening have been increasing in the Outlands, with more coming in every day. Even the capital isn’t safe. The people are getting restless, eager for answers that nobody has and the King has been completely silent on the subject. If the Unseelie were the cause of the Darkening, why is it spreading again now even though the realms are separated?

No one has heard from the Unseelie since the barrier was sealed and that silence, previously a comfort, now rings malicious.

“There you are.”

Goro jumps at the soft voice and whirls around to see a figure rising out of the stairwell in the floor, emerging into the starlit room. Heart suddenly pounding, Goro takes a deep breath. “Akira, you startled me.”

Akira drifts closer, the silvery light of the stars glancing off his dark hair and the glittery paint streaked haphazardly across his face. “Apologies, my prince. I saw you escape the Banquet and my curiosity got the best of me.”

“_Escape_ makes it sound so dramatic.” Goro waves a hand. “I was simply tired.”

“Yes, you danced with that young lady for quite a while.” Akira shoves his hands into his pants pockets, tilting his head as he takes in the room. “No wonder you’re tired.”

“Ann is a friend of mine,” Goro finds himself saying.

Akira looks back at him curiously. “She’s quite beautiful,” he says, and it’s not a question, but his tone still sounds questioning.

Goro blinks. “I could introduce you, if you’re interested,” he offers, confused. Ann had called him handsome, so maybe–

“Not my type,” Akira chuckles lowly. He wanders a little closer to the telescope, peering at it curiously. “What is this place?”

Perplexed by Akira’s seeming interest and immediate disinterest in Ann, Goro fiddles with a dial on the telescope. “This whole Tower is a defunct astronomy tool. The Seers used to use it to gather data, but since we don’t have Seers anymore and it can only be used once a month, it’s mostly abandoned. Not to mention–” Goro reaches over to flip the cover off a set of intricate controls in front of Akira. “The machinery is ancient. I don’t think there’s anyone in the Palace who knows how it all works.”

Akira examines the controls before his gaze strays to Goro’s hand, trailing up his arm to land on his face, no less scrutinizing. “Why not destroy it, then?”

Goro allows the cover on the controls to swing shut, the squeaky hinges echoing loudly in the silent Tower. “Well, it’s still a piece of history. Perhaps someday, there will be a use for it again.”

“You think the Seers may come back?”

“No, that’s impossible,” Goro scoffs, trying to ignore the way Akira’s stare makes the back of his neck burn. “Sight may have been a powerful Art thousands of years ago, but it’s pointless now. I doubt there will ever be another true Seer.”

“So you believe there really were true Seers at some point?”

Goro pauses, regarding Akira in the half-light. His expression gives nothing away. “Perhaps it’s an uncommon opinion, but the histories can’t be ignored. True Seers undoubtedly existed, but the Art is lost now.” After the barrier was sealed, Sight began to decline in the general population and the Royal Seers began to lose their ability to see the future accurately. After a few disasters brought about by incorrect visions, King Yaldaboath declared all Seers to be frauds and purged them from the Court. Some reports suggest it was an unpopular decision, but the nobility supported it and when Sight became completely extinct, the King was hailed as a hero. Eventually, rumors conflated with fact and the idea was spread that Sight had always been a lie concocted by scheming Fae aiming for influence within the Summer Court.

“Interesting,” Akira says vaguely.

“What’s with the interrogation?” Goro asks, crossing his arms in front of himself defensively. Something about Akira’s eyes makes him feel like a specimen pinned to a display board.

Akira shrugs. “I merely wanted to get to know you better. The Court speaks a lot about you.”

“Yes, I’m a well-known figure,” Goro replies, still guarded. So he’s just a social climber. Goro can deal with that. “Don’t believe the gossip. The Nobles love to make things up.”

“So I’ve heard. Everyone has a lot to say about the future Archduke.”

Goro fists a hand into the fabric of his sleeve. “That’s a rumor. My father has made no succession plans.”

Akira raises an eyebrow. “Don’t you want to be Archduke?”

Silence falls between them and Goro stares, frozen, arms locked around himself. Akira’s gaze doesn’t waver, shining through the dim.

“My father has made no succession plans,” Goro repeats quietly, jaw clenched. “Such matters are none of my business, nor anyone else's.” Idle speculation by gossipy Nobles is one thing, but intent expressed by the adopted son of the second most powerful Fae in the Kingdom is something else entirely. Something dangerous.

Akira holds his gaze for a beat longer before dipping his head. “Of course. My apologies. My friends have always told me I’m a good listener. I suppose it’s made me a bit nosy.”

Goro relaxes slightly. “A good listener, hm? I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Something you need to get off your chest?”

“No, nothing like that. But listening can be a valuable skill here.”

Akira smiles crookedly. “I’ll keep my ears open.”

Faced with that smile, Goro finds he has to look away, turning his attention back to the telescope. “Did you live in the Outlands before coming here?” he asks, idly tracing the ornate bronze detailing.

“Yes.” Akira turns to face the telescope as well, surveying the complex machinery. “I attended a speech by Count Yoshida and begged him to accept me as a student.”

“He’s a persuasive speaker. Have politics always been your ambition?”

“In one way or another. I’ve always wanted to help people.” There’s a hard edge to Akira’s voice under the words that makes Goro’s ears perk up. “Politics is one way to do that.”

“Do you want to be a Counselor? Or are you aiming for one of the vacant titles? There are a lot of people vying for those, but if another Noble sponsors you, your chances will go up a lot. Of course, Count Yoshida has no current heir, and the nobility is ostensibly merit-based, even if lineage is considered, so there’s no reason–” Goro breaks off, realizing he was babbling.

Akira doesn’t look annoyed; on the contrary, there’s amusement in his eyes as he watches Goro. “I haven’t thought that far into the future,” he confesses. He takes one hand out of his pocket to trace the eyepiece of the telescope. “I’m just lucky to be here now.”

Goro stares at Akira’s spidery fingers, glowing nearly white in the starlight. “You are,” he agrees. “The capital is much safer than the Outlands.”

Silver eyes dart back up to meet his. “That’s not what I meant.”

His expression speaks volumes in a language Goro doesn’t know how to read. The shimmery paint streaked on Akira’s face catches the light as he tilts his head, focused intensely on Goro, and before he can stop it, Goro’s hand rises, one finger brushing against the powder low on Akira’s cheek. It transfers instantly to his gloved fingertip.

Akira’s eyes go wide.

Goro jerks away. “I’m so sorry,” he apologizes hastily, folding his hands behind himself like a naughty child. “It was just–I–the paint–”

Haltingly, Akira raises his own hand and presses it against the place Goro just touched. “Ah, yes, some of the dancers were...very enthusiastic.”

Clearing his throat, Goro looks away. “Well, you can expect a lot of that. We don’t get new people as handsome as you very often.”

“You think I’m handsome?” Even without looking, Goro can tell Akira is smirking and he curses himself.

“That’s just what my friend Ann said,” he says rigidly. “Anyway, I have to bid you goodnight. I have a lot of work to do in the morning.”

“Of course. I hope I haven’t imposed.” Akira finally pulls his other hand from his pocket to offer Goro a full bow. “Goodnight, my prince.”

Goro swallows, chancing a glance at Akira’s lowered head. “Goodnight, Akira.”

He keeps his steps unhurried as he leaves the Tower, but it’s only through sheer force of will.

* * *

After that, he can’t help noticing Akira around Court. Quite against his will, Goro finds his eyes drawn by that slouching figure, those unruly curls every time Akira passes within sight. He seems to be a diligent worker, frequently hurrying back and forth between the different sections of the Palace complex, trailing a busy-looking Yoshida or transporting materials. There’s really nothing notable about his activities, but that doesn’t stop Goro’s gaze from lingering.

“He’s sweet,” Ann says, apropos of nothing, idly tracing her finger around the gold rim of her teacup. They’re sitting in a small, open-air patio that looks onto the courtyard of the main residential wing, sharing gossip over a late lunch.

It’s a lovely day and Goro looks up from contemplating the patch of violet flowers near his feet at Ann’s words. “Who is?”

Ann nods in the direction of the courtyard, eyebrows raised pointedly.

Goro follows her gaze to see Akira deep in discussion with a couple of archival assistants next to a marble fountain. He’s dressed down, his usual uniform missing a few layers, but he looks just as serious as always. “Akira?”

Ann giggles. “First names already?”

Goro flashes her an unimpressed look. “It’s not like either of us have titles.”

“I guess,” she hums. “But I’ve heard what he calls you, _my prince_.”

“A lot of people call me that.” Goro raises his cup to his lips, hoping to hide the flush spreading across his face.

“Yes, but when he says it, he means it.”

“I didn’t know you were so familiar with him.”

She shrugs, twirling one of her pigtails around her finger. “We’ve spoken a few times. Like I said, he’s sweet. Always helping people.”

“Count Yoshida is lucky to have him,” Goro says dismissively, trying to signal the end of the conversation, but Ann refuses the hint, sucking thoughtfully on her teaspoon.

“I wonder where he came from,” she says around the delicate silverware. “He’s kinda secretive, you know?”

“Is he?” Goro responds, trying to sound uninterested.

“Mh-hm.” She pops the spoon out of her mouth and plunks it down into her nearly-empty cup. “I feel like we could be best friends, but it’s like he’s got a wall up.”

“You can be intimidating sometimes, Ann.”

“I know that.” She leans sideways against the table, cheek balanced on one hand, still staring pensively into the courtyard. “But that’s not the problem. He’s not scared of me.”

Goro eyes her critically. Her snowy skin is radiant in the afternoon sunlight, golden hair tumbling around her artistically, blue eyes glittering like gemstones. Goro’s pretty sure there isn’t a man alive who wouldn’t be scared of Ann Takamaki. “Then what is it?”

She frowns. “I’m not sure. Maybe he’s just tough to crack.” A sly smile aimed at him– “Like you.”

Goro takes another sip of tea, not rising to the bait. “Why are you so interested, anyway? He’s just a page.”

“How very reductive of you, Goro,” she scolds. “Even pages can be successful if they apply themselves. And besides–” she hitches her smile back up, more mischievous this time, “–the rest of the Court is very interested in him.”

“And why is that?”

“Oh, probably because he’s handsome and polite. But that’s nothing to sneer at, you know. Those two things are usually mutually exclusive.”

Goro settles his cup down with a quiet _clink_. “Yes, you’re proof of that, aren’t you?”

She laughs loudly, like she always does when Goro says something snide. “Apparently so are you!”

“My apologies, Ann. You’re a treasure.” He smiles and he means it.

She tosses her hair. “Of course I am, but that’s not my point.”

“Then what is your point? I’m afraid I lost track.”

“Well, now–” she tilts her head, “–I’m not going to tell you.” Suddenly, she stands up, her chair scraping back noisily behind her, and waves to someone over Goro’s shoulder. “Shiho! Yuki!”

Goro turns to see a dark-haired girl and a reedy-looking boy stop on their way into the entrance hall. The girl waves back enthusiastically.

“I’ll see you later, my prince,” Ann bids him farewell, hurrying around the table and ruffling his hair for good measure when she passes behind him.

He protests weakly as she jogs over to her friends.

Alone at the table, Goro frowns at his teacup, running a hand through his disordered locks. What was she getting at?

“Good afternoon, my prince.”

Startled, Goro lowers his hand and looks up to see Akira hovering on the other side of the table. Evidently, he hiked up the small rise from the garden to the patio while Goro was distracted.

“Good afternoon,” he echoes, blinking at Akira’s outline, backlit by the suns. “Hard at work, I see.”

“Always.” Akira tips his head to the side. “Are you watching me, your highness?”

Goro waves a hand. “I merely saw you with the archival assistants.”

“Of course.”

A beat of silence passes between them and Goro feels it prickle up his spine.

“Well,” he starts, casting about for something to say, “–how are you adjusting to life in the Court?” He grimaces internally. Way to sound like a grandmother.

Akira doesn’t seem put off, however. He just shrugs listlessly, glancing out over the grounds. “I’m getting used to it. It’s very different than where I come from.”

Goro chuckles. “Yes, the Court operates very differently from most towns. It’s almost like a city in its own right.”

“It’s nearly the size of a city too. Sometimes I think it’s _too_ big.”

Recalling their first meeting, Goro asks, “Have you found yourself getting lost?”

“Perhaps a few times,” Akira admits, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Well, be careful. There won’t always be someone as helpful as me around to guide you.”

“I wouldn’t dream of asking anyone else anyway.”

While Goro tries to figure out what kind of joke that was supposed to be, Akira narrows his eyes at him and leans over, planting a hand on the table between them. “You’ve got–” he reaches out and, before Goro can react, runs cool fingers through Goro’s hair.

Goro freezes, staring up at Akira as he pulls back.

“Your hair was sticking up.” Catching sight of Goro’s face, Akira jerks back further. “I’m sorry, was that too forward? Suns, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have–”

“It’s alright,” Goro interrupts, his voice a little quieter than he wants it to be. His scalp tingles and he resists the urge to touch it. “You just startled me.”

“Still, I shouldn’t touch you without asking. I wasn’t thinking.” Akira looks very contrite, shoving his hands in his pockets and avoiding eye contact.

“I’m serious, it’s fine,” Goro insists, missing the weight of Akira’s intense gaze for some reason. “I’m not made of glass.”

Akira hesitates for a second before looking back at Goro. “I know.” The corner of his mouth quirks up. “I’ll warn you next time.”

“Don’t bother,” Goro sniffs. “I’m not titled nobility. You really don’t have to treat me so carefully.”

Akira’s eyebrows shoot up and, too late, Goro realizes how that sounded. Like he just gave Akira permission to touch him whenever. He should clarify.

“Because–” he says quickly, “It’s only fair, after all, the other night I also….” he trails off, pressing his lips together at the memory of brushing his hand against Akira’s face in the Celestial Tower.

Fae are, by nature, affectionate, and touch comes easily as an outlet even between acquaintances, but Goro has always been a little different in that regard. For multiple reasons. The Court in general knows this and, coupled with their terror of upsetting the Archduke, handles him gingerly as a result. Ann is the only exception, but she’s rarely around and not constrained by typical Court concerns. So far, Akira’s casual treatment has been novel, a taste of what other Fae his age have in abundance. As pathetic as that sounds, Goro doesn’t want to scare him off.

Another silent breath passes.

“That’s true,” Akira says slowly, regarding him inscrutably. “Well. I’m afraid I still have work to do. It was nice to speak to you again.”

_Why_, Goro wants to scream. _This conversation was a disaster!_ “Indeed,” he agrees tightly. “Have a nice day, Akira.”

“You as well.” Akira bends at the waist just enough to be proper, keeping deep grey eyes on Goro. “I hope to speak to you again soon, my prince.”

He strides away and Goro doesn’t watch him go, keeping his gaze on the tabletop while Ann’s smug face manifests in his head.

* * *

The next morning, he receives a missive from his father.

_Early dinner with me, followed by meeting with the King. Dress up._

Succinct as always. Goro sighs, dismissing the servant and closing the door to his chambers. His father doesn’t meet with him often, but with everything that’s been going on, Goro isn’t surprised. Maybe the King finally wants to discuss the Darkening.

That evening, when the sky is streaked with pink but before the suns reach their lowest point, Goro excuses himself from Sae and a couple of her fellow Counselors and returns to his chambers to _dress up_. His father always makes a point to specify that because, left to his own devices, Goro tends to dress rather simply, usually preferring utility over ostentation. But Shido won’t abide him looking like a page in his presence.

He chooses a richly brocaded white tunic with red accents and dons a red outer robe with more of a train that he’s really comfortable with. He pulls his hair back with the ribbon Ann left him last night and slips his gloves on, a nicer red pair for the occasion. Then he’s ready to go.

On his way to Shido’s private dining room, he finds himself watching the halls around himself, peering around corners, expecting to catch a glimpse of midnight hair. He stops dead in his tracks at the realization and harshly scolds himself.

Shido is already seated when he arrives. “You’re late,” he chides, gesturing for Goro to sit across from him and snapping to summon a servant.

“Apologies, Archduke,” Goro says, taking his seat. It’s only _Father_ in public. “I will be prompter next time.”

Shido grunts, taking a sip of wine.

Goro thanks the servant that delivers his food and begins eating quietly, waiting for Shido to get to the point. He doesn’t have to wait long.

Shido dismisses the servants from the room with a wave of his hand. As soon as they’re gone, he levels a squinty look at Goro across the table. “Go on, then,” he prompts.

Without mincing words, Goro outlines all the information he’s gathered since he last reported to Shido, referencing the small notebook he keeps tucked in an inner pocket. Everything from romantic dalliances to possible political moves, he remembers everything and dutifully recounts it as Shido listens critically. Goro is always surprised by the amount people are willing to share with him, given that he is the Archduke’s son, but everyone trusts Shido, and therefore they trust him as well. If only they knew the extent to which Shido is pulling the strings. If only they knew how much of Shido’s professional and empathetic personality is a carefully constructed facade hiding an insecure, power-hungry despot.

Goro is far from the beloved adopted son Shido claims him to be in public. In truth, he’s little more than a tool and Shido regards him similarly to the fork and knife currently poised in his hands.

“–and Counselor Sae plans to bring up the construction of an official quarantine zone at the next Counsel session,” he finishes, his food long since cold and mostly untouched on his plate.

Shido rubs his chin. “That might not be a terrible idea,” he considers. “I’ll have a word with the Senior Counselors.”

The Counsel is supposed to operate outside of the nobility as a completely impartial body guided by law and reason. The reality is that whatever Shido wants gets done one way or another. Every time Sae starts working on a project Goro knows Shido won’t approve of, he has to fight the urge to tell her it’s pointless.

The Archduke position wasn’t always so powerful. In fact, according to the government records, there used to be several Archdukes that split the ruling power as the King’s proxies and balanced each other equally, but for the past few hundred years, Shido has been the only one in the position, slowly insinuating himself deeper and deeper in the court until nothing happens without his knowledge and permission.

Shido is young compared to most of the Archdukes of legend, some of whom rivalled the Monarch in age, living thousands of years before accepting the position. At only a few hundred, Shido shouldn’t be as powerful as he is, both in the Court and in the depth of his magic. The form that sits in front of Goro now, a relatively normal-looking Fae man with carefully groomed facial hair and sleek, expensive robes, is a vessel that contains a being of almost pure Fae magic. Goro has only seen his true form once, shortly after he was adopted, and he wishes to never do so again.

Weaker Fae can’t even spend too long in his presence. Even Goro, blessed with naturally strong Arts, feels the effects after a while. Already, a minor headache is building behind his eyes.

“Well, then,” Shido says briskly, snapping to re-summon the servants. “Let’s not keep the King waiting.”

The Seelie King resides in the very center of the Palace, which is less a contiguous building and more a sprawling network of different complexes, all serving different purposes. Very few servants work in the Central Palace and the ones that do work in cycles to keep from being obliterated by the King’s massive amount of magical power. Compared to the King, Shido is a pixie, and no physical form can truly contain that much energy.

Rumor has it that anyone who beholds the King directly turns to ash, but those are only rumors. Mostly.

A blank-eyed servant leads Shido and Goro through the marble hallway to the throne room. The servant’s voice is mechanical and vacant when he speaks and he doesn’t respond outside of the respectful greetings, but Goro has been to the Central Palace often enough that he’s used to it.

“The King is expecting you,” the servant says tonelessly, bowing in front of the closed doors to the throne room.

Shido brushes past him to push the doors open.

“Thank you,” Goro says quietly.

The servant doesn’t respond to either of them, turning and walking stiffly away.

The throne room is a grand, sweeping space lined with shining golden columns. The spaces between the columns are empty, no tapestries or artefacts to bring warmth to the room, leaving the entire area feeling cold and sterile. It’s beautiful and imposing as Goro taps across the gleaming marble floors, under the massive domed window that serves as a ceiling, but it’s dead. Even the crackle of magical energy permeating the air can’t breathe life into the King’s throne room.

On a tiered dias as the very end of the long room stands an exquisite gold throne housed within a canopy supported by four sculpted golden trees. Goro can’t see the throne through the layers of gauze curtains currently drawn around it, but he knows what lies within. The glow of the lanterns floating throughout the room affords the barest glimpse of a silhouette through the canopy, the impression of a tall, broad man settled on the throne.

Flanking the canopy, a few steps down on the dias, stand two young-looking Fae girls, as always. Aging can be complicated for Fae, and people who look young may in fact be very old, but still, Goro has always thought Caroline and Justine appear exceedingly young for their lofty positions as the King’s personal pages. Regardless, they must be very powerful to bear the King’s presence as much as they do.

Shido marches confidently to the very foot of the dias and Goro follows suit, a few steps back.

“Kneel!” One of the girls barks, probably Caroline, given her abrasive tone. Not only are the girls dressed in identical blue robes, they also possess the same silver hair and pale eyes, so until one of them opens their mouth, it’s nigh impossible to tell them apart. “Eyes down!”

Shido and Goro both drop to one knee, heads bowed.

A soft swishing noise signals that the girls have pulled the cords attached to the canopy, parting the gleaming curtains with a smooth rush of air that Goro can feel ruffling his hair.

The change is undeniable. With the curtains open, the subtle hum of magic in the air intensifies enough to raise the hairs on Goro’s arms. Even with his own fortifying well of magic, it’s easy to imagine how spending so much time in such a presence would drive one mad.

“Raise your heads,” the King’s voice sounds, filling the space despite its low volume, so deep that it resounds in Goro’s bones.

Goro looks up. The King isn’t glowing, or floating, or anything like that, and if you were to view him through several panes of glass, he would look like a fairly ordinary Fae man, broad-shouldered with an angular face and close-cropped hair, age indeterminate. However, even with his massive power dampened somewhat by his shell, the air around them is heavy. Almost sparkling.

“My King,” Shido says. “Your humble servant, the Archduke Masayoshi Shido, has come as you requested.”

“Archduke.” The King nods, his smooth face displaying no emotion. “It has been a while since our last meeting, and even longer since I have seen your son. I trust you are both well.”

“Yes, my King.”

Goro doesn’t dare speak up unless directly addressed, so he stays quiet, watching attentively.

“Excellent,” the King booms. “I am eager to hear your report, Archduke.”

While Shido rambles about the state of the Court, Goro surreptitiously eyes the King and his pages. The amount of Fae who see the King face-to-face can be counted on one hand. Caroline, Justine, Shido, and, most recently, himself. It wasn’t until several years after his adoption that Shido finally deigned to allow Goro into the King’s presence, and he made it very clear that it was at the King’s request.

He was terrified the first time he met the King, recalling all the stories he’d read of the King’s blinding power, his viciousness during the War, and while the King exudes magic almost like a suffocating fog, the truth is underwhelming. King Yaldaboath is no military genius, no great intelligence, no benevolent ruler.

It only took one meeting for Goro to see the King as he really is: an over-gorged parasite, content to let others rule his nation for him, willingly handing more and more governing power over to a greedy, cruel man like Shido. He sits on his laurels from the War, never taking initiative, locked inside his gilded Palace. A figurehead. A fraud.

The Seelie regard him as a hero for saving them from the Unseelie menace, for erecting the Barrier, for purging the Seers, but he’s nothing like the Seelie Monarchs of legend. The records may be lost, but the tales remain, stories of Queen Margaret’s patience and poise, of King Theodore’s eagerness to serve, of Queen Elizabeth’s vivacity, of how all of them personally loved and protected their people.

King Yaldaboath is nothing. The only notable thing about him is his immense well of magic, which seems to increase at an unprecedented rate. With so little concrete information about past Monarchs, it’s impossible to say if this power gain is normal, but Goro feels it can’t be. Maybe sitting around doing nothing makes your magic accumulate more quickly. It’s impossible to say.

Of course, thoughts like that are akin to treason, so Goro keeps his opinions to himself.

Finally, Shido finishes his report with a polite duck of his head and the King swings his attention to Goro. He shivers at the sensation of spiny insects crawling up his spine that always accompanies the King’s direct gaze.

“And you, little princeling,” the King rumbles. “How is your training progressing?”

“Very well, your highness.” For some reason, the King has always found Goro somewhat entertaining. It was by his request that Goro be allowed to meet him, after all, and he always inquires after him with the air of one checking in on a vaguely interesting houseplant. Even to the most powerful Fae in the Kingdom, Goro is a novelty. Perhaps the knowledge should make him vain.

“I am pleased to hear it.” The King tilts his head. “Your father speaks highly of you. I have high hopes for your future.”

“Thank you, your highness.” Behind his back, Goro clenches his fist. His hands feel hot under the leather.

“Until next time, Archduke,” the King says, moving his focus back to Shido, and Goro almost sighs with relief as the tingling abates. The King extends one hand, the sleeve of his opulent robe trailing on the floor, and beckons Shido forward.

Shido smoothly ascends the steps of the dias. “Of course, my King.” Grasping the King’s hand in his and bowing over it, he presses his forehead briefly to the back in a gesture of devotion reserved almost exclusively for royalty and their most loyal vassals. Shido is the only one permitted to touch the King directly and for a second Goro _burns_ with envy.

All it would take is _one touch_ and Goro would have what he needs–

Officially dismissed, Goro and Shido are ushered out by Caroline and Justine, who quickly pull the cords on the canopy to draw the curtains closed once again. Due to the King’s massive amount of magical power, his physical shell is nearly impossible to maintain, so visits are kept short by necessity. If his true form starts to leak out, not only would it be hazardous for any in his presence, but the King would be in danger as well.

At their core, Fae are magic, energy generating and inhabiting a physical body, which allows them to interact with the world without scorching their surroundings, but the bodies serve another purpose: hiding the Heart. The Heart is a Fae’s greatest weakness, the core of their power and the one surefire way to kill them. Left alone, Fae can live for thousands of years; their magic will fade eventually, but, other than that, the only way to kill a Fae is to damage them completely beyond repair or strike their Heart directly. The location of the Heart is different for every Fae and is only visible on the true form. So there are two ways to find a Fae’s Heart, seeing their true form, and–

As the doors to the throne room slam shut behind them, Goro clasps his hands tightly behind his back.

They leave the Central Palace unaccosted, walking in silence across the bridge over the small lagoon that separates the King’s dwelling from the rest of the Palace.

“You didn’t mention the Darkening,” Goro says at length.

Shido sneers. “His Highness doesn’t like talk of the Darkening.”

_Of course he doesn’t_, Goro thinks. The sky above is purple, twilight well upon them. “Does the King know about the cases in the city?”

“He’s been informed.”

Goro waits, but Shido doesn’t elaborate. “Is he doing anything?”

“His highness is taking his time to consider the matter,” Shido says sharply. “As am I.”

“Are you sure that’s wise? The townspeople are growing more agitated and–”

Shido freezes and, like he’s on a leash, Goro’s footsteps falter as well, his words cutting off.

“Are you questioning me?” Shido’s voice is cold, ice creeping into the air around them.

Goro swallows, eyes averted. “No, sir.”

“Do you think you know better than me? Than the King?” Shido is taller than him, so when he steps forward, he looms over Goro, blocking the light of the sunset.

Fighting to keep from stepping back, from reaching for the blade strapped to his thigh, Goro clenches his jaw. “Of course not, sir.”

Shido’s mood, so even and professional in Court, swings violently back and forth in private. Goro curses himself for not being more careful.

“Then keep your mouth shut,” Shido snarls. “You know what happens to those who question me.”

Goro doesn’t respond, staring fixedly at Shido’s collar, breath caught in his lungs.

“Now, be a good boy.” Shido pulls back, turning away, fury apparently doused in an instant. “I’ll send for you if I need you.” Without another look at Goro, he strides down the path, tugging at his cuffs.

Goro follows him with his eyes, staring at his back. His hand twitches toward his thigh. It would only take one good thrust, and–

Then Shido disappears into a small copse of trees, headed for his private quarters, and Goro exhales harshly.

He can’t. It’s too soon. If he kills Shido now, the King will just appoint someone else unsuitable. If his plan is going to work, he’ll need to kill them both, but he hasn’t seen the King’s Heart. Until he has that information, any move will be too risky.

If he just bides his time, ingratiating himself with the Court and letting Shido think he has him cowed, he’ll get his chance eventually.

But not tonight.

Taking a deep breath of clear evening air, Goro unroots his feet and heads toward the residential complex. Shido has his own palace in the city as well as a sprawling estate in the Northern lands, but he spends most of his time at Court and therefore, so does Goro.

The one upside to the exhausting evening is that it’s pushed all thoughts of Akira from Goro’s head and he falls into bed without even pulling the curtains closed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Darkening arrives and Goro departs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While writing this, I realized pretty quickly that it had morphed beyond a regular Fae AU and was quickly edging into regular old high fantasy, but I like the vocab too much to ditch it, so we just have to live with this Frankenstein's Monster-esque amalgamation of tropes. Hopefully it makes any kind of sense.

A loud pounding on his door rouses Goro from a fitful doze.

Shaking the hazy remnants of sleep from his mind, Goro stumbles to the door, sparing a second to notice the deep violet of the sky outside his window. It’s the middle of the rest hours so whoever is at his door better have an extremely good reason.

Any admonishments die on his tongue when he swings the door open and finds Ann, draped in a hastily-tied dressing gown and nearly incoherent with panic on the threshold.

“Goro! Oh, suns–” she falls into him, hands clutching at the front of his robes. She’s shaking.

“Ann–” Goro catches her, careful not to touch her skin directly, worry washing over him in a cold wave. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

“It’s–it’s–” She looks up at him, eyes red and swollen with tears. “Shiho–it’s Shiho, she–she–”

Goro’s grip on her shoulders tightens. “What happened?”

“The–the Darkening!” Ann chokes. “It’s the Darkening! She’s got it–the markings–she collapsed and now the Healers are saying–” she dissolves into sobs, pressing her face into Goro’s chest.

Ann’s words echo in Goro’s head. Someone in the palace has officially contracted the Darkening, and it’s Ann’s best friend, to make things worse. If the nobility gets word of this, there will be panic. If the citizens know that the Darkening has infiltrated the Court, the chaos will be untenable.

“Where is she?” he asks quickly.

Ann hiccups. “The Healing Tower,” she answers hoarsely. “It–it hasn’t been that long–”

“Alright, let’s go.”

She jerks back. “No! Isn’t it dangerous? They wouldn’t let me see her after–you can’t take the risk–”

“We don’t know how it’s spread.” Goro crosses to his vanity and briskly tugs on a pair of gloves. He can’t afford to accidentally brush anyone, not in these circumstances. “If it’s easily contracted, we’re all doomed by now anyway.” As a dancer, Shiho was consorting with the entire Court during the Banquet. In all likelihood, she was already infected, but there’s been little evidence to suggest the Darkening spreads through contact of any kind. “And she’s your friend, right? Of course I’m going.”

A fresh wave of tears pours down Ann’s face. “Thank you,” she gasps. “Goro, I–if this–”

“Hush,” Goro soothes, taking her by the hand and leading her out of the room. “It’s going to be alright. Shiho will need you to be calm.”

Ann just nods and lets herself be lead, beyond words.

Unfortunately, the corridors outside the Healing Tower are already packed by the time they get there.

The gathered Fae, a mix of servants and pages with a few minor nobles, are chattering loudly, jockeying to try and see into the infirmary. This is exactly what Goro wanted to avoid.

Several hysterical Fae are whispering loudly about how the entire dance troupe has come down with it and Ann makes a face like she wants to say something but Goro pulls her away, through the crowd. People part easily when they see who’s trying to pass and the panic gradually dies down, replaced by hushed murmurs that _the prince is here, Archduke Shido’s son is here, that must mean it’s true, is the Archduke coming–_

“Excuse me,” Goro says tightly, shuffling past the last clump of people and shoving through the door into the Healing Tower, tugging Ann in behind himself before closing the door firmly in the onlookers’ curious faces.

The Healing Tower is bustling, Fae rushing back and forth with pale, tense faces. A Healer stops him when he tries to enter the emergency ward, clearly the epicenter of the activity.

“My prince, I’m afraid it’s too dangerous–”

“I’m aware of the risk,” Goro interrupts. “But you know as well as I that we’re in no more danger here than we are a hundred leagues away.”

There’s no disputing that, so the Healer has no choice but to let them through.

Several Nurses are hovering around Shiho’s bed, fussing, and Shiho herself seems to be enduring it gamely. At the sight of Goro and Ann, she pushes herself up. “Ann!”

“Shiho!” Ann rushes forward, past the Nurses, to catch Shiho’s outstretched hands. “Oh, suns, they made it sound like you were dead already!”

“I’m fine!” Shiho insists. “Well, I’m not fine, but–anyway, it’s dangerous for you to be here!”

“As if I’d be anywhere else!” Ann perches beside Shiho and pulls her into a hug, which Shiho returns with a laugh that’s crossed with a sob.

“Details,” Goro requests of the nearest Nurse, scanning Shiho critically.

“She collapsed while returning to her room and the responding Healer discovered the markings radiating from a spot on her shoulder,” the Nurse answers professionally. “It seems to be early stages, but the markings are more extensive than other victims at this stage of fatigue.”

Goro nods, digesting this. Shiho is wearing a loose dressing gown, and when she moves back from Ann’s embrace, Goro spies the dark tendrils peeking over her collar. Her face is wan, with deep shadows under her eyes, but her smile is still bright as she looks at her friend.

“I should have noticed something was wrong,” Ann laments. “You seemed tired at the Banquet, but I thought it was from traveling.”

“So did I,” Shiho admits, curling her fingers into the loose fabric of Ann’s sleeves. “I didn’t even notice the markings until tonight. I really didn’t think anything was wrong. I would have told you, I swear!”

“I know.” Ann raises a hand and brushes Shiho’s hair back over her shoulder. “It’s going to be okay, Shiho.”

“Pardon me,” Goro speaks up, coming to stand beside Ann. Shiho blinks up at him in something like surprise. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Goro Akechi, a friend of Ann’s.” He inclines his head to her.

Shiho bows back to the best of her ability. “I’ve heard a lot about you, my prince, but we have never met. I’m Shiho Suzui. I apologize for causing such a stir. It’s so late….”

“Nonsense,” Goro assures her. “I don’t want to stress you, but I do have a few questions.”

Shiho bites her lip. “Of course. Though I don’t know how much help I’ll be.”

“It’s alright, Shiho,” Ann says.

“Yes, anything you can tell me will be helpful. Now, you said you didn’t notice the markings until tonight?”

Shiho tugs self-consciously at her collar, as though to hide the branching black veins. “Yes. I didn’t see anything until the Healer pointed them out. And I was wearing a really revealing top at the Banquet, surely even if I didn’t see it, someone else–”

“It wasn’t there,” Ann insists. “I would have noticed something like that.”

“Indeed,” Goro agrees, furrowing his eyebrows in thought. “If you don’t mind, could you tell me how extensive the marking are?”

“Um–” Shiho points to a place between her collarbone and shoulder through her gown. “The center is around here, and–” she moves her finger to a spot about halfway down her arm, just above her elbow, “–it goes to here on my arm, and–” she draws a curved line underneath her right breast, “–here on my chest.”

“Does it hurt?”

“It doesn’t hurt, but I can feel it, if that makes any sense. When I touch it, it does something.”

Other reports of the Darkening have been similar. The physical agony doesn’t start until the later stages. But other reports also indicate that the mark spreads gradually before the weakness starts to set in, which is obviously not what happened in Shiho’s case.

According to her and Ann, the fatigue started sometime before the Banquet with no sign of the markings until they showed up, suddenly and in great quantity, around the time she collapsed.

“Interesting,” he murmurs, before he can stop himself, tapping his chin.

Ann kicks him in the shin.

“Ah, sorry, I didn’t mean to sound callous,” he apologizes, wincing.

Shiho just giggles. “He’s just like you described, Ann.”

“You mean a huge jerk?” Ann tosses her hair imperiously. “Of course.”

“I always suspected you badmouthed me in private,” Goro smiles.

“Extensively.”

Shiho watches them with a fond expression before she seems to sag. “This is really bad, isn’t it?” she asks quietly. “No one survives the Darkening, and if my symptoms aren’t normal, then–”

“Don’t talk like that!” Ann says vehemently. “The King isn’t just going to ignore this! And Goro is working on it! He’ll figure something out!” She casts a desperate look up at him. “Right?”

Goro presses his lips together, hoping he’s not lying when he says “Right.”

“No, I don’t want to put that pressure on you,” Shiho protests. “The Darkening is a force of nature, how can anyone stop it?”

“I will,” Goro says firmly. It might bite him in the ass later, but if it can provide Ann’s friend some comfort in the moment, how can he refuse? “I’ll make sure the Darkening takes priority within the Court.”

“Hear that, Shiho?” Ann grasps Shiho’s hands in hers. “The Detective Prince is on the case! You just need to focus on conserving your strength.”

A hesitant hope shines in Shiho’s eyes as she looks between them. “Do you really think something can be done?”

Goro steels himself. “Nothing exists in this world without reason. The Darkening is no different. If we can understand it, we can cure it.” He casts a glance around the sterile and impersonal ward. “I’ll make arrangements for you to be moved somewhere more welcoming during your convalescence.”

“Please, don’t trouble–”

“It’s no trouble.” Goro’s mind is racing. He suddenly has a million things to do. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have some things to take care of.”

“Of–of course.” Shiho ducks her head again. “Thank you, my prince.”

“I wish we could have met under better circumstances.” With one last squeeze to Ann’s shoulder, Goro excuses himself and hurries out of the emergency ward.

Only to run right into Makoto, Haru, and Akira on their way in.

They break off their whispered conversation as soon as they see him and Makoto narrows her eyes.

“I should have known you’d be here.”

Goro smiles at her. “Makoto. It’s been a while.” He nods to Haru. “Hello, Haru.”

Haru dips her head in response, wringing her hands nervously. “My prince. We came to see Shiho.”

“Are you going to let us pass?” Makoto asks harshly, fists on her hips.

Goro regards the odd group for a moment. Makoto and Haru both look ruffled, robes thrown quickly over their nightclothes, but Akira is fully dressed and looks the same as always. He has no earthly idea what the three of them are doing together, but Makoto doesn’t look receptive to questions at the moment, so he just steps aside. “Of course.”

The girls hurry past him and Goro’s attention is immediately commandeered by Akira, who pauses beside him in the doorway.

“My prince,” he greets, low enough not to be overheard by the Tower staff hurrying past.

Goro sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, the seam of his glove digging into the skin. “Word certainly travels quickly, doesn’t it?”

“It does, but it didn’t need to travel far to reach me.”

Goro lifts his head. “I’m sorry?”

Akira looks a little apologetic. “I was the one that found her and summoned the Healers.”

Goro blinks at him. “And what were you doing wandering the halls in the middle of the night?”

Akira shrugs. “Working late. Got a little turned around.”

“You have an uncanny way of being in the middle of things, don’t you?” Goro marvels.

“Just luck, I suppose.” Akira’s eyes gleam in the lantern light.

Before Goro can ask more, a servant appears through the flow of Healers and Nurses, breathing heavily and looking haggard, probably from pushing through the crowd at the doors. “My prince,” he pants. “The Archduke requests that you join him in the throne room immediately.”

“The throne room?” Goro repeats, unsure if he heard him correctly.

The servant glances around nervously. “Yes, sir.”

Perhaps the King is finally taking action. Goro dismisses the servant, who scampers away with relief plain on his face, and turns to Akira. “I have to go. Tell the Healers I permitted you to go inside–” he gestures into the emergency ward. “But don’t say anything to the people outside.”

“Of course.”

At Akira’s nod, Goro rushes out of the Tower.

The halls are noticeably active as Goro makes his way to the Central Palace. Servants hurrying about, pages whispering to each other. Goro even spies a few Counselors sweeping by in their long, official robes. But no one approaches him and soon he’s crossing the bridge and almost running through the austere corridors of the King’s home.

A different blank-eyed servant swings the throne room doors open for him and he slips in. Shido is already there, kneeling tensely by the dais, but the King isn’t on his throne. Instead, he’s standing in front of the closed gold canopy, Caroline and Justine flanking him and looking almost comically tiny next to all seven feet of the King’s full height.

“Hurry and kneel!” Caroline orders.

Goro keeps his eyes down and hastens to Shido’s side, dropping to one knee. Shido doesn’t acknowledge him.

“Tonight, tragedy has struck,” the King begins, his booming voice uncharacteristically hushed. “The scourge of the Darkening has presented itself in the depths of the Summer Court. Since the end of the War, we allowed ourselves to grow complacent, but now our worst nightmare has come true.”

No mention of how the disease struck the Outlands first, Goro notes, staring at the ground. The nightmare only begins when it’s at the King’s doorstep.

“I will not see the Summer Court fall to this menace,” the King continues, accompanied by the sounds of swishing fabric and heavy footsteps, indicating that he’s pacing on the dais. “The Unseelie are the source of the Darkening, but they have been sealed behind the Barrier for over two thousand years. The Barrier stands uncorrupted, and yet the infection spreads. I must know why. Raise your heads.”

Goro lifts his head to see the King standing a few steps down on the dais, looming over them with a solemn expression.

“Advise me, Archduke,” the King rumbles. “What are we to do now that the infection is among us?”

“My King,” Shido quickly replies. “I am sure the infection began in the Outlands. Any investigation must start there.”

“Will you undergo this journey?”

“I could not leave the Court at such a time,” Shido protests. “However, my son–” he glances back at Goro, who continues staring stonily at the King, “–is thorough and well-liked by the people. He would perform adequately in my stead.”

“Little prince,” the King turns his prickly attention on Goro, meeting his eyes with a zing of energy. “Will you serve your Kingdom and accept this task?”

Goro grits his teeth for a split second. “Yes, my King.”

The King regards him piercingly, the unnatural paleness of his eyes boring into Goro like twin needles, before he nods his head. “Excellent. Make arrangements to depart at once.”

“It will be done, my King,” Shido says, bowing his head.

Goro mimics him, pressing his lips together in a thin line to keep from speaking.

As Caroline and Justine shepherd them out of the throne room, Goro glances over his shoulder once, catching sight of the King pacing once again on the dais, and, for a brief second, as the lanterns float overhead, he thinks he catches sight of a silhouette on the throne. Through the curtains, it’s impossible to make it out exactly, but it’s not a person.

Before Goro can even think to look closer, Caroline and Justine banish them completely and the doors swing shut behind them.

“You heard the King,” Shido says dispassionately, leading the way out of the Central Palace. “I expect you to depart as soon as possible.”

“Yes, sir.” Goro watches the back of Shido’s bald head.

“I will make sure word of your journey reaches the right people. That should do to quell much of the unrest.”

Vaguely, Goro wonders if the King or Shido even expect him to find anything, or if this entire mission is a show for the Court. A bid for favor. Ultimately pointless. “Do you truly think the Unseelie are behind this?”

“Quiet!” Shido snaps, glancing around, but the corridor is thankfully empty. He continues in a lower voice, “It’s undeniable that the Darkening is spread by the Unseelie, but if the King says the Barrier is intact, then there’s no way they could have gotten through.”

“So where is this plague coming from?”

Shido shoots him a sneering look, never breaking stride. “That’s what you’re going to find out, now, isn’t it?”

_Isn’t it? _“Yes, sir.”

“I expect regular reports.”

“Yes, sir.”

And with that, Shido leaves him, peeling off in the direction of the Council Tower. With everything that’s happened, there will probably be an emergency meeting tonight. But Goro has other concerns.

There’s so much to take care of. He should head back to the Healing Tower, try to curtail the crowd, make arrangements for Shiho, plan for his own transportation to the Outlands–he has so much to do–

And yet his footsteps pause on the stones on an open-air corridor on the way to the Healing Tower and he comes back to himself staring blankly at a floating lantern. His mind is whirring so quickly it feels like the blades of a pinwheel, spinning and spinning until they completely disappear.

“–prince. My prince?”

Goro blinks, jerking out of his haze and turns to find Akira standing much too close. “Akira!”

Akira steps back swiftly. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to startle you, I saw you standing here and thought you looked...distracted.” He levels Goro with a curious gaze. “Is everything alright?”

Goro’s not sure he can handle Akira twice in one night, but he gives himself a mental shake and straightens his spine. “What are you doing here?”

“I was asked to gather a few of Shiho’s things.” Akira holds out an arm, displaying a couple of books and what looks like a patterned shawl. “I’m on my way back.”

“Right.” Goro swallows. If how hard he jumped at Akira’s appearance is any indication, he’s really not in a state to see Shiho or Ann at the moment. “Since you’re on your way, please tell them that the King is aware of the situation and is taking steps to solve the problem.”

Akira quirks an eyebrow. “Steps?”

Goro wraps his arms around himself, squeezing to ward off the tremors. “I am to travel to the Outlands to investigate possible sources of the outbreak.”

Akira’s gaze sharpens. “When?”

“As soon as arrangements can be made.”

“I see.” Akira’s eyes scan the length of Goro’s body with an analytical glint that makes him squirm. “Are you alright?”

Goro blinks. “What?”

“You seem unsteady.”

“Oh, I–” Goro drops his arms to his sides, clenching his fists. “I’m fine. Merely a little tired. And I just met with the King personally. That can be a...draining experience.”

“Shall I accompany you to your destination?”

“No, I really am fine,” Goro insists. “You need to get back to the Healing Tower.”

Akira sighs. “The Healing Tower is a zoo right now. Everyone in the Palace is certain they’ve been infected. The Healers are all over the place trying to explain that they probably aren’t.”

“Yes, I expected something like that might happen.” Goro shakes his head, eyebrows furrowed. “Hopefully the panic will die down when they hear that I’m leaving.”

Akira’s eyes narrow and he hums in what might be agreement.

“Well, I really do have things to attend to, so, if you’ll excuse me–”

Akira holds his gaze for a beat longer before nodding and Goro almost sags in relief at the inexplicable sensation of being released. “Of course, my prince. Make sure to get some rest.”

Goro bites back a scoff. “And you–perhaps reconsider the midnight strolls.”

A small smile turns the corners of Akira’s mouth. “Maybe I’m just hoping to run into someone.”

Puzzled, Goro tilts his head. “Who?”

Akira stares at him for a second before looking away, the slightest hint of red staining his cheeks. “No one. Goodnight, my prince.”

He retreats down the hall with long strides and Goro stands there until he’s out of sight.

After yet another harsh internal scolding, he sets off in the opposite direction.

* * *

“My prince!”

Goro slows his pace, glancing back to see Count Yoshida jogging to catch up with him.

“Count,” he acknowledges, allowing Yoshida to fall into step with him. He’s on his way to make some arrangements with Sae regarding his impending absence but he’s not in a hurry.

Yoshida’s face is troubled, brows drawn together. “I hear you’re traveling to the Outlands. Are you sure that’s wise?”

Goro sighs. “It’s an order from the King. He wants to know as much about the outbreak as possible.”

“If you’re certain, I recommend beginning your investigation in the town of Jongen.” Yoshida nods absently. “While visiting, I heard that’s where the outbreak truly began. Not to mention, it’s my home. I keep a small estate there and welcome you to make use of it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course! Anything I can do to assist you, you need merely ask.”

Goro considers the offer. Truthfully, he planned to head just slightly east, in the region Ann’s troupe had visited most recently, but if Yoshida is to be believed, Jongen might be a better starting point. “Very well. I appreciate your generosity.”

Yoshida waves a hand. “It’s nothing, truly. I only wish I could do more. The people are very scared. Were I not needed here, I would be back home at this very moment.”

“Your presence is a benefit to the Court.”

“Please, my prince, there’s no need to flatter me.” But Yoshida is smiling bashfully. “I’ll contact my estate and inform them of your arrival.”

“Thank you. I should be there in a few days.”

Yoshida offers a hurried bow before falling behind and heading off.

Even though Goro holds no official title within the Court, he finds he has a lot to arrange before departing. In his efforts to ingratiate himself to the nobility, he managed to become something of a glorified errand boy, handling tasks that Nobles and Counselors couldn’t trust to their own staff. His proficiencies with the pen and sword are well-known throughout the Court, and who doesn’t want to be seen working cooperatively with Archduke Shido’s beloved ward?

Once his affairs are set in order, including having Shiho transferred to a small villa on the outskirts of the Capital, all that’s left to do is leave.

In the Seelie Kingdom, distance is not entirely immutable, despite the Weavers’ best attempts. Fae magic can be used to shorten and speed journeys, but instant teleportation is not yet available. Some legends, mere tales at this point, speak of Fae so ancient and powerful that they could cross the vast Seelie lands in a single step, but Goro has yet to attain that status, so he settles for securing a spelled carriage pulled by two scaled horses. The magic on the carriage, with the addition of the fleet-footed animals, should cut his travel time from two days to a half day if they hit the right ley lines.

Ann comes to see him off the morning he plans to leave. Goro sees her standing nervously by the carriage house while he makes last-minute preparations with the driver.

“There’s no need to look so scared,” he tells her as he approaches. “I’m not heading off to war.”

She fiddles with her sleeve. “These are scary times, Goro. If you won’t be scared, I’ll do it for the both of us.”

“Please, don’t.” He lays a hand on her arm. “If even the fearless Ann Takamaki is afraid, we are all truly doomed.”

She barks out a laugh and pushes forward, wrapping her arms around him. “Please be careful,” she begs, voice muffled where her face is pressed against Goro’s tunic.

“I’ll find something,” he promises, raising his hands to return the hug.

“That’s not what I meant,” she says fiercely, looking up at him. “You’re always like this, Goro. Of course I hope you find something, but more than that I’m worried about _you_.” Her grip tightens until Goro’s ribs creak in protest. “These really are scary times, and everyone can tell that something’s wrong.”

Goro presses his lips together in a grim line. She’s right. If the feeling of wrongness is palpable even in the Summer Court, he can’t even imagine the dread hanging over the Outlands, or the consequences of that dread.

“Please promise me you’ll come back in one piece,” she demands. “Shiho and I will be here waiting for you, so _please_–”

“I promise.” For a moment, Goro clutches her tighter. Over the past few days, he’s been wished endless luck by smiling nobles who were only relieved they were not the ones called upon for this duty, but not a single person has requested his safe return. It’s a pedantic concern–surely such sentiments are implied when wishing safe travels, but Goro has long suspected that if he disappeared from the Summer Court entirely, his loss would not be felt. He should be used to it by now, but hearing Ann wish for his return so fervently plucks at something inside him he thought was long dead. “I will write, if you wish it.”

“Yes! Tell me everything!” She leans her forehead against his shoulder. “I would go with you, but–”

“Shiho needs you here, of course.” With some effort, Goro separates himself enough to smile down at her. “I will return as soon as I am able.”

She nods, a bit of twinkle returning to her eyes. “You better. And if you get infected, I’ll kill you myself.”

He laughs and leans down to allow her to press a quick kiss to his cheek.

“Have a safe trip!” She waves as he steps onto the carriage and he waves back.

The driver snaps the reins to muster the horses and activate the distance spells and Goro, still hanging out the open door, finds himself scanning the path around the carriage house, half-expecting to catch a flash of wild black hair. After all, he’s been everywhere Goro hasn’t wanted him so far, why should now be any different?

But the only one there is Ann, still waving with a watery smile on her face and Goro feels foolish.

With one last wave and a theatrical bow to Ann, he climbs fully into the carriage and settles down, letting the subtle buzz of magic wash over him. Perhaps he really has been at Court too long. He can’t allow himself to get distracted.

* * *

The Seelie lands and the Seelie Fae are inexorably linked. The land feeds from the magic of the Fae that tend it and the Fae draw their power from the heart of the earth. One cannot flourish without the other.

That is why Goro isn’t surprised to see the scenery outside the carriage dim gradually as he passes. The changes are subtle but impossible to ignore; vibrant flora wilting despite all efforts to care for it, the scarcity of wild animals lingering near the paths, the sunlight growing increasingly watery and pale the closer he gets to the Outlands. Despite himself, Goro is horrified. He had no idea the corruption was this extensive.

Even the ley lines are more unstable than usual and Goro doesn’t arrive at Yoshida’s estate until nearly evening. The Stewardess meets him outside with a small fleet of staff and bows deeply as he disembarks.

“We have been expecting you, my prince,” she says. “Everything is prepared for your stay.”

“Thank you.” Goro watches as a servant unloads the few bags he brought with him. “Pardon me, but do you think it’s too late to speak with the town Lord?”

“Not at all! He’s expecting you as well.”

The central city of the region of Jongen is an old place with none of the sweeping marble structures of the capital. The buildings are primarily stone and the tallest among them stand at only three stories. The Lord’s manor is by far the most opulent building within the city proper and the road that leads to it is the most well-maintained Goro has seen so far.

Yoshida’s estate lies slightly outside the city but it doesn’t take long to call on the Lord.

He is singularly unhelpful, despite being overwhelmingly pleased to have Goro in his company. All Goro gleans from their brief and platitude-filled meeting is that the Healer who treated the first few victims is in another township but should be back soon and that the city’s Archives are reportedly the oldest in the entire Seelie Kingdom.

That at least piques Goro’s interest enough to distract him from the frustration of having to wait to speak with the Healer. “Forgive me if I’m mistaken,” he says, “but I was under the impression your Archives burned down during the War?” He specifically remembers Yoshida lamenting the loss of his hometown’s extensive history.

The Lord blusters in his haste to respond, dabbing at his forehead with a handkerchief, “Yes, that is true, my prince, but last year, an excavation project unearthed a section that was so deep it escaped the worst of the fire. It isn’t much, but we are still in possession of some of the oldest documents in the Kingdom.”

Goro taps his chin. To his knowledge, all documents predating the War were lost in the conflict against the Unseelie, countless Archives damaged in the fighting. Even the Summer Court’s extensive Archives did not escape unscathed. The opportunity to get his hands on records from before the War, possibly even information about the Unseelie–he can’t turn it down. “I’ll be sure to pay a visit tomorrow.”

“Of course! And I’ll have someone alert you when our Chief Healer returns.”

“Thank you.”

The Lord is clearly reluctant to let him leave, but Goro eventually manages to escape and by the time he makes it back to the estate, the suns have sunk low in the sky, bathing the small but polished grounds in the sleepy violet of evening.

Truthfully, Goro is exhausted. The past few days were spent running around the Palace with little rest and spelled travel is infamously taxing on the body, but until now he hasn’t had the time to feel the weariness settling deep in his bones.

Despite his exhaustion, Goro’s mind is far too awake to think about sleep. The sight of the manicured gardens is tempting and Goro turns his steps on to the small path meandering through the estate grounds. The land itself is suffering undeniably, and even here Goro can see a blandness in the flowers. The luminescent varieties flicker weakly as he passes where normally they would glow with the strength of a lantern. And the entire garden is silent, no rustling of pixies darting through the brush or hummingbirds hovering around the floral topiaries. The stillness persists as Goro rounds a hedge corner and finds himself in a cobblestone courtyard.

His steps stall, leaving him standing alone in the silent courtyard, and all at once everything seems very big. The Darkening, the King’s orders, his plans, his secrets–it all rushes forward like a physical weight barrelling into him and he raises his gloved hands to cover his eyes, pressing until little stars drift across his vision.

Absurdly, he misses the Celestial Tower.

Then a sharp rustle startles him from his miserable spiral and he jumps, hand flying to the dagger on his thigh, heart pounding.

A figure, made indistinct by the lowlight shining behind it, stumbles out of the bushes at the edge of the courtyard, swearing softly and trying to free its sleeve from a grasping branch.

Goro stares in disbelief. He would recognize that silhouette anywhere. “You!”

Akira spins around, stepping into better light, and stares back, eyes as wide as Goro’s. “My prince–”

Goro draws the dagger with a sharp jerk and stalks forward, snarling, “What are you doing here?”

Akira raises his hands defensively, backing up quickly. “This isn’t what it looks like–” the backs of his legs hit a low stone bench and he goes down with a grunt, landing heavily.

Without pausing, Goro leans over him, pressing the flat of the blade against his collarbone, fisting his other hand in Akira’s hair. “You’re following me,” he hisses, rage simmering under his skin.

Akira swallows, and even in the half-light, Goro can see the flickering motion of his throat. “I am,” Akira says tightly.

“You won’t even try to deny it?”

“My actions are not malicious, my prince–”

Goro scoffs, tightening his grip, forcing Akira’s head back slightly. “Then why are you here?” he jeers.

Akira winces. “I’ve come to help you–”

Another scoff and Goro inches the dagger closer to Akira’s throat.

“I’m not lying!” Akira grabs Goro’s wrist and one of his fingers finds the small sliver of skin between Goro’s glove and sleeve. Goro nearly jerks back at the sensation. Akira’s skin is cold. “I could not leave you to this task alone.”

Collecting himself, Goro glares down at him. “Why in both suns do you care? This is none of your business.”

“I care about my people as much as any Fae.” Akira levels that piercing grey gaze at him. “And even more than that, you could be in danger.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Goro snaps. “I can handle myself.”

“Of course, my prince.”

The earnestness in Akira’s voice brings an involuntary warmth to Goro’s cheeks and he finds himself grateful for the dimness of the courtyard.

“But I could not bear the thought of leaving you unaided.”

Goro regards him coolly. “Did you sneak away from your post?”

“Of course not.” Akira starts to shake his head, but the sensation of the blade still pressed against his throat seems to make him think better of it. “The Count is concerned as well and encouraged me to come. I’m from this area, and we both thought I could be of some use. You can write him if you don’t believe me.”

That would be easy enough to confirm, so there doesn’t seem to be a reason to lie. “So why were you creeping around the garden?”

A sheepish smile slants across Akira’s face. “I must admit, I got a little lost on my way here. I rode on horseback the entire way and must have strayed from the path a little.”

Sighing, Goro loosens his grip on Akira’s hair a little. “You must understand how suspicious this looks.”

“Yes. Believe me, my prince, I intended to walk through the front door. I would never think to accost you in a dark garden like this.” The scant light in the courtyard catches the mischievous glint in Akira’s eyes.

Goro has only had six conversations with Akira and yet each one has caused him untold grief. “How considerate,” he says, slipping back into his normal blithe smile. Relenting, he pulls back, releasing Akira’s hair and sheathing his dagger.

Akira takes a deep breath, rubbing the back of his head as his gaze lingers on Goro’s thigh, where his dagger disappeared under the hem of his tunic. “You’re very deft with a blade, my prince. Are you always armed?”

“Of course,” Goro answers, smoothing a hand self-consciously down the subtle outline of the sheath under the fabric. “I’m gifted with the Art of Combat. It would be wasteful not to stay vigilant.”

“Really?” Akira stands, surging into Goro’s space with a grin. “We shall have to spar sometime. I also possess that Art, but I’m sure I could learn a lot from you.”

Eyes narrowing, Goro scans Akira’s frame with renewed curiosity. Given his general lankiness and poor posture, Goro had not assumed Akira’s Arts lay in Combat, but perhaps he shouldn’t be so judgemental. Many people think the same of him, after all. Part of him itches to ask Akira about his other Arts, but open inquiries are considered rude.

Arts are fairly generalized, anyway, and not a surefire way to gauge someone’s abilities. Many Counselors are gifted with Logic, but just as many are not and keep pace just as well. Physical Arts are a little more insurmountable; a dancer blessed with Grace will always stand out from one who isn’t, for example, but even physical Arts merely indicate certain proclivities. Arts often play into each other as well, one Art enhancing another. Goro’s fighting abilities, while formidable on their own, are made distinct by his added Grace. Ann, with the Arts of Grace and Breath, can dance for hours longer than her troupe-mates who are only blessed with Grace. A Fae can have many Arts or merely one and still excel in any field they put effort into. For example, Count Yoshida is known for his rousing and passionate speeches despite not possessing the Art of Voice.

Publically, Goro’s Arts lie in Combat, Grace, and Logic. A very fine spread for one who with the potential to become Archduke. Looking at Akira, it’s difficult to predict what other Arts he may possess.

As though reading his mind, Akira chuckles. “Surprised, my prince?”

Goro starts slightly, clearing his throat. “No, no. Just lost in thought. I’ll certainly take you up on your offer, if you’d like.”

“I’d like it very much.” Akira shoves his hands in his pockets, smiling. “I’ll leave it to your discretion.”

Cheeks warming again, Goro decides it’s time to stop standing around in the garden. If he’s going to accept Akira’s help, then they’ll be busy tomorrow. “Come on, then. Let’s get inside.” He leads the way back up the path and Akira falls into step beside him. “You must be tired after riding all day. Why did you not simply take a carriage?”

“It would have taken too long to spell an entire carriage,” Akira says, his loping stride easily keeping pace with Goro’s quick steps. “I wasn’t certain I’d be able to get away until this morning, so I took the fastest option.”

“The situation is not so dire that you needed to race here.”

“Didn’t I already say it?”

Goro glances at him, eyebrow raised. “Did you?”

Akira tilts his head, eyes gleaming in the nearing light of the house. “I didn’t want you to be alone.”

Sucking in a sharp breath, Goro turns to face the front. “So much care for someone you barely know,” he says, keeping his tone carefully neutral. He’s used to people fawning over him. He’s used to people paying him lip service. He’s used to empty compliments and being treated as a stepping stone. He’s _not_ used to the sincerity in Akira’s voice or the undeniable fact that Akira rode through the day to reach him.

Either Akira is playing a very long game with unclear stakes or he’s telling the truth.

Akira hums in response. “I suppose you’re right,” he says thoughtfully. “We really haven’t spoken much. Strange. I feel as though we’ve known each other for a long time.”

Goro’s chest throbs curiously and he chances another look at Akira, who is facing the front, eyebrows furrowed. “It is strange,” he agrees. “I feel very much the same.” Akira snaps his attention to Goro, blinking, and Goro smiles his most well-practiced charming smile. “Perhaps we were fated to meet.”

It’s oddly gratifying to watch Akira get flustered for once. His mouth drops open but no sound comes out and his pace hitches slightly, eyes wide. But before Goro can properly enjoy it, they reach the house properly, entering the warm pool of light cast by the lit windows.

The Stewardess quickly adjusts to the situation after Goro explains Akira’s presence and orders a few servants to ready another room.

Before they part for the night, Akira catches Goro by the arm and whispers, “Are you going to write to Count Yoshida? His additional letter to the staff should arrive soon, but still, I could be lying.”

Akira’s hand is still cold through the fabric of Goro’s robe. “You could be,” Goro agrees. “But I’ll trust you this time. Don’t make me regret it.”

“I won’t, my prince. You have my gratitude.”

“Get some sleep. I want to visit the Archives tomorrow and I expect you to be my guide.”

“Of course.” Akira flashes him a small smile before catching Goro’s hand in his own and bending down to press his forehead to the back of Goro’s glove. “Goodnight, my prince.”

The satisfaction Goro felt earlier at having unbalanced Akira drains away with the rush of blood to his face as he watches Akira retreat casually down the hall.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Akira knows everyone in Jongen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Being me is really just *overthinks world-building details**overthinks world-building details**overthinks world-building details**overthinks world-building d
> 
> I wanted to get this posted for the "honey, I'm home" anniversary but I was just a little too late. Oh well.

Akira leads Goro confidently through the streets, expertly avoiding the largest concentrations of Fae. “You stand out, my prince,” he explains with a smile, steering them down a small alleyway. 

That’s true enough, Goro supposes, but there’s no reason for Akira to look so smug.

Jongen’s Archives are located in the heart of the city, as many Archives are. Before the War, Fae prized knowledge and legacy above nearly everything else, so settlements always cropped up around the collection of information. In contrast to the Summer Court’s opulent Archives, Jongen’s are housed in a low stone building with few windows. Even now, hundreds of years later, evidence of the fire lingers in the lines of off-color stones marking the edge of the repaired destruction.

The door creaks when Akira pushes it open and steps aside to let Goro pass. While the outside is unobtrusive and a little bland, the inside is cozy, the main room decorated with rich tapestries and glass curio cabinets that Goro is instantly dying to peek inside. Sturdy tables and chairs stand between tall dark wood bookshelves and the entire place is lit with soft lantern light. The scent of old paper and leather mixes with the familiar minty scent of protective spells.

“Hello!” A cheerful voice calls before a woman pops up from behind the wide desk standing inside the door. She has short black hair cut sharply around her jawline and a wide smile with a lot of teeth. “Welcome to—” she breaks off on a squeal when Akira walks up behind Goro. “Akira!”

Akira holds his arms out for the hug that the woman rushes around the desk to give him. “Hello, Ohya.”

“Couldn’t stay away, could you?” the woman laughs, pulling back to pinch Akira’s cheek familiarly.

“No, I couldn’t. But I’m here on business today.” Akira smiles and gestures to Goro, who isn’t sure how to feel at the sight of this woman’s clinginess. “This is Archduke Shido’s son, Goro Akechi.”

The woman coos with interest, stepping back to scan Goro discerningly, hands on her hips. “Really? Wow, the rumors really haven’t done you justice, your majesty.”

Goro blinks, heat rushing to his cheeks. “Please, disregard any gossip you may have heard about me.”

She laughs, a sharp cackle. “But gossip is my trade!” Smiling with all of her teeth again, she bows. “I am Ohya Ichiko, co-Archivist of the Jongen Archives. My partner is out at the moment, so it’s just me.” Straightening up, she angles a sly look at them. “I gotta say, Akira, I’m impressed. You just left to take your fancy court job and you’re already rubbing elbows with the prince himself!”

Akira rubs the back of his neck and doesn’t meet Goro’s eyes when he looks over at him. “We’re working together,” he says shortly.

“Right,” Ohya says shrewdly, smile unwavering. “So, what _business_ could be important enough to bring our little prodigy back home so soon, accompanied by the beloved prince?”

Goro takes pity on Akira, who is clearly flustered. “The Lord told me these Archives are the oldest in the Kingdom. Is that true?”

“Yup,” Ohya chirps. She circles the desk again, straightening a few of the papers scattered over the surface. “The fire got a lot, but it couldn’t take it all. Last year, we excavated some of the deepest chambers and managed to salvage a bit. Those areas were caved in during the fire, so we never even thought to look until Kayo brought it up. There’s a bit of smoke damage here and there, but we were really lucky.” She taps her fingers on the dark grain wood. “I never really thought about it, but I guess they really are the oldest in the Kingdom. Huh.”

Before Goro can inquire further, the motion of her drumming fingers draws his eyes and his gaze catches on the pale, nearly white lines scarred in a winding pattern around her right hand. His words die in his throat.

“What is–oh—” Ohya lifts her hand and wiggles her fingers as though showing off a new piece of jewelry, grin somehow widening. “Right, I bet you don’t see this too often in the Court, my prince. What do you think? Cute, right?”

The scars are striking, unmistakable. Thin bands wrapping around her hand and up her fingers, forming one long Bond mark. Goro shakes his head slightly. “I apologize for staring. You’re right—I haven’t seen one in a very long time.”

“Yeah, those nobles don’t know how to live,” Ohya tsks. “My partner and I have been Bonded for about a year now. Akira was at the ceremony.” She winks at Akira.

Goro endeavors to keep the open curiosity off his face. It would be rude to pelt a person he’s just met with personal questions about a very private matter, but Bonding is almost unheard of in the Court and books on the subject are so clinical. Ohya looks at the marks with a fondness that can’t be catalogued and Goro has a million questions.

But he swallows them. “Congratulations,” he manages.

“Aw, don’t worry, kid. I can tell you’re curious. Go on—” she gestures broadly. “Ask away. Akira knows, I’ll take any chance to talk about Kayo.”

“It’s true,” Akira deadpans. “But we’ll be here for hours.”

“_Cheeky_.”

It’s tempting, but they have things to attend to first. “Perhaps later, if you’d be willing to oblige me.”

“Of course!” Ohya leans forward. “So you need to check downstairs, is that what I’m hearing?”

She leads them down a series of narrow staircases, catching up with Akira’s activities and not even bothering to hide her interest in Goro. “You’re definitely going in my records, honey,” she laughs. “It’s not every day we get royalty in here.”

“I’m not actually royalty—”

“Technicalities,” she says dismissively.

After a progressively dimmer journey, they arrive at a solid wooden door. The protective magic is layered thick on the wood, thicker than any they’ve passed so far. “The oldest records we have are in here,” Ohya says, extracting a key from her pocket and fitting it into the heavy lock. It tumbles loudly. “It’s a really eclectic bunch, but it’s easier to keep it all together instead of sorting them by subject. Some of them are very fragile, so be careful,” she warns, pushing the door open.

The room is round, like a tower, except they’re deep underground, and multi-leveled, lit by floating lanterns that illuminate as the door opens. Small balconies accessed by rolling ladders stretch about three stories above them, allowing access to the books on the tallest shelves. The room isn’t wide, with barely enough floor space for a few tables and chairs. As expected, the air is heavy with protective magic. 

“If you need something, ring that—” Ohya points to a bell mounted on the wall by the door. “It’s mirrored to a bell on my desk. I’ll ring mine if I’m closing up or need you to come out for some reason.”

“Understood.” Goro smiles at her. “Thank you, Ohya.”

She beams. “What a _gentleman_. Unlike someone—” she looks pointedly at Akira, who only shrugs, unconcerned. “He’s a menace,” she stage-whispers to Goro. “Just so you know. Quite the heartbreaker around here.”

“Really?” Goro raises his eyebrows. “I see you didn’t change much, Akira.”

“You dog!” Ohya punches Akira playfully in the arm. “Seducing the nobility now, are you?”

“_Seducing_ is a strong word,” Akira protests, rubbing his arm and looking very hard-done-by. He glances at Goro. “Nothing like that is happening.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s what you always say.” Ohya rolls her eyes. “Hifumi was beside herself when you left. You better pay her a visit.”

“I will.”

“And Sojiro!” Ohya continues. “I think that dinky café of his is still open, but I never leave my lair, so I don’t know. If he hears you’re here but didn’t go see him, he’ll kill you.”

“I know, I know.”

Goro smiles, enjoying the glimpse into Akira’s life before he came to the Court. In the Palace, he always seems so easy-going and unruffled, and it’s refreshing to watch him squirm under Ohya’s good-natured lecturing.

“Alright, I’ll leave you to it,” Ohya says once Akira has been properly threatened. “Don’t get into any trouble!” She leaves with a parting cackle, swinging the door shut as she goes.

In the ensuring silence, Akira shifts nervously. “I’m not,” he says after a beat.

“Not what?”

“A heartbreaker.”

Goro raises a hand to cover his smile. “Isn’t it something to be proud of?”

“It’s not! Because I’m not—” Akira breaks off on a huff, tugging his fringe over his eyes.

“There’s nothing wrong with being popular.”

“I’m not actually that popular.”

“You made friends in the Court readily enough,” Goro points out, remembering the whispered conversation between Akira, Haru, and Makoto he walked in on.

Akira shrugs and it’s the most moody Goro has ever seen him. “Like I said, I’m a good listener. I can make friends, but it’s nothing like Ohya implied.”

“I see. It’s alright. Your romantic endeavors are none of my concern.”

“There aren’t—!”

Goro laughs louder than he meant to, gloved hand pressed over his mouth to muffle the sound, and Akira breaks off with a slightly dazed look.

“Okay,” Goro acquiesces, giggling. “I’ll stop teasing you, but only if you take me along to this café Ohya mentioned.”

Akira blinks before his mouth twists with a pout. “I was going to take you anyway.”

Feeling oddly bubbly, Goro turns his attention to the shelf nearest him and peers at the book spines. “Good.”

Akira paces across the room and starts inspecting the books there. Goro runs a finger along the ancient bindings, feeling the buzz of preservation magic through the leather of his gloves. He wishes he could touch the faded fabric and paper directly, but removing his gloves with anyone present is too dangerous.

After a moment, Akira speaks up again. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you beforehand.”

“Tell me?” Goro repeats distractedly, pulling a book from the row. Most of them seem to be written in common Script, thankfully, but a few are so old that Goro has to decipher the language.

“That Ohya is bonded. I saw that it startled you.”

Goro pauses, brain catching up to Akira’s words. “It’s fine,” he says quickly. “There shouldn’t have been a need to warn me. It’s a simple cultural difference. I shouldn’t have reacted so rudely.” Truly, he’s embarrassed. It’s no big deal.

“The Summer Court really doesn’t do Bonding, does it?”

“It’s not unheard of.” Goro slides the book back into place and selects another, scanning the cover. “But it’s definitely viewed as a disadvantage.” How could it not? Fae in the Court are invariably ambitious or greedy. Why potentially hinder yourself by binding your magic to someone else’s?

“Things really are different here,” Akira says quietly, almost like Goro isn’t supposed to hear it.

“Yes, I always figured the general population would feel differently about it.” Goro frowns down at the book in his hands, a collection of old poetry. “But I must admit that, since coming to the Court, I’ve been taught nothing but the evils of Bonding. In matters of politics, Fae who Bond are viewed as liabilities. As short-sighted as it may be, I can understand the logic.”

“The logic.” Akira hums thoughtfully and Goro glances over to see him staring fixedly at the shelf in front of him. “I suppose there_ is _risk involved.”

Fae can marry each other all they want, that’s merely a legal procedure that ensures rights and property. Bonding is a different matter altogether. It’s a powerful, ancient ritual that, when performed with matching intent, binds one magic core to another, permanently. According to records and stories, it used to be nearly as common as marriage itself. Fae can live for so long that many wanted insurance that they wouldn’t have to live without their lover or spouse, although the ritual isn’t limited to romantic partners. Close friends and even siblings can perform a Bonding, but there’s a romance inherent to the process that made it more common for lovers. The connecting of magic cores, on its own, merely means that the magic will fade at the same rate. Fae born in the same generation would usually die around the same time anyway, but it’s the side-effects that can cause concern.

Between two Bonded Fae, damage is halved, whether it be illness or injury, regardless of who is first afflicted, both partners will share the burden. Of course, this can be beneficial, since it reduces the risk of death from simple injuries or infections. However, if the condition is beyond unsurvivable, both partners will die.

So, as Akira said, there is risk involved. Unavoidable risk.

“Ohya must care for her partner very much,” Goro says after a beat. “From what I can tell, the practice fell out of favor during the War. With such a high casualty rate, how could it not?”

At the mention of the War, Akira twitches, enough for Goro to notice, but he doesn’t say anything, merely resuming his browsing as though nothing happened.

“Even if it returns among the common people,” Goro continues, eyeing Akira watchfully, “I doubt it will return to the Court. The culture there is highly individualistic. As I said, nobles view that sort of thing as dangerous.”

“What about you?” Akira’s voice is casual but Goro doesn’t miss the keen look shot his way. “How do you view it?”

What about him? How does he view it? The general consensus of the Court is that Bonding is a childish relic of myths and stories, proven too hazardous by the War, and Goro nods along pleasantly when someone gets started on the subject, but truthfully—

In the orphanage, his only friends were books. Cast-offs from older children or borrowed tomes from the Capital Archives. Even as a child, he enjoyed the dry legal records and dull histories, but what really thrilled him were the mythologies, collections of ancient tales detailing the adventures of heroic and beautiful Fae. Creation myths to mysterious, half-translated narratives, he devoured them all, and a common theme among them, one that popped up as a saving grace or victorious prize over and over, was Bonding. Even then, Bonding was already spoken of with scorn, but to a young orphan, the thought of two people loving each other enough to link their very lives was a lovely and terrible thing.

Goro blinks down at the poetry book, the nostalgia of frantically turning pages, racing toward a happy ending that he knew was coming momentarily washing over him. “It’s….” he shakes his head slightly, raising a hand to brush a loose lock of hair behind his ear. “It’s amazing, isn’t it?” Smiling, he looks back up at Akira. “Loving someone that much?”

Akira stares at him from across the room, lax fingers loosely gripping a thin bound tome, and there’s something oddly vulnerable about his expression. Absurdly, Goro thinks that if he gets closer, he’ll see little stars floating in Akira’s eyes.

“And, of course, it’s interesting on an intellectual level,” Goro continues quickly, looking away. “Bonding is the most powerful form of magic innate to all Fae, after all. Frankly, even if the practice is no longer popular, we shouldn’t abandon study of it, but the Weavers are reluctant to go against Court opinions, so you can understand why—” Goro nearly trips over the words as they stream out of his mouth.

“Right,” Akira says finally, thankfully giving Goro a reason to shut up. “Anyway, um—” he glances around the room. “What should I be looking for?”

“Oh, uh—” Goro shelves the poetry book with jerky motions and takes a deep breath. He’s here to do a job. “Histories or records from before the War, preferably ones that might mention the Unseelie—” his voice dips on the word, an involuntary instinct trained by years at Court, where mention of the people of the Winter Kingdom is anathema.

Akira reacts to the word as well, an uneasy shifting of weight. “Alright.” He turns his attention back to the shelves. “Does the King think they might be behind this?”

“It makes sense.” Goro trails his finger up the spine of a thick leather volume before sliding it out. “If contact with them spreads the Darkening, then we at least have to check.”

“But the Barrier is intact, right?”

“According to the King, it stands uncorrupted.”

Akira hums but doesn’t say anything more.

Goro starts a small pile of books that catch his eye on one of the tables, mostly lightly singed record volumes and a few biographies from around the time of the War. The King seems convinced that the Unseelie are to blame for the outbreak, so Goro keeps an eye out for books that may reference them, but, even more than that, he’s interested in information about the Darkening itself. He has no illusions about unearthing something the trained Healers overlooked, but, to be fair, the Healers are more focused on treatment and clinical knowledge. They might not think to turn to cultural history for information. Perhaps, Goro hopes, there’s a clue in one of these ancient accounts about how the disease really spreads.

He tries to keep his eyes off Akira, but the sight of his dark head bowed over yellowed pages, expression intent, is oddly arresting, and he finds himself involuntarily distracted more times than he’d like.

Between the two of them, they collect a fair number of volumes, but the room, despite its size, is deceptively dense, and Goro didn’t come prepared for an extended study session, so he decides to cut the visit after a little while.

He and Akira carry their finds back upstairs and Ohya greets them from the front desk.

“Is it alright if we borrow these?” Goro asks, indicating the books. “I understand if you’d like to keep them on the premises—”

“Oh, it’s fine,” Ohya assures, already grabbing a thick leather binder from the shelf behind her. “I trust you, your highness. And after everything Akira did for me, I can’t deny him anything.” She grins.

“Doesn’t stop you from making fun of me,” Akira shoots back fondly.

“That’s different. That’s my civic duty.” Ohya flips through the binder, making notes while glancing at the books in their arms. “Everyone around here is too in love with you to keep you humble. If I don’t, who will?”

“Prince Akechi doesn’t seem to be having any problems.”

Scandalized, Goro shoots a glare over his shoulder to find Akira smiling insolently.

“Oh?” Goro turns back to see Ohya’s eyes twinkling. “Now _that’s_ going in my records.”

“Please,” Goro protests weakly. “It’s—I’m not—”

“It’s alright, it’s alright—” Ohya laughs, making one final, flourishing mark before closing the binder. “All checked out! Have them back before you go back to Court, okay? And, your highness—” she leans over the desk, a conspiratory glint in her eyes, and gestures for Goro to come closer. He does, hesitantly, and she cups a hand to her mouth, whispering loudly. “Watch yourself around that one. He needs a firm hand, if you get what I mean.”

Cheeks burning, Goro glances helplessly between Ohya and Akira. “I think I’m starting to.”

“What does that mean?” Akira demands.

“It means behave!” Ohya straightens up. “And visit Sojiro!”

With Ohya’s bright cackling following them out the door, Goro and Akira exit the Archives laden with books and blushing.

Clearing his throat, Goro adjusts his grip. “Let’s drop these off at the estate. And then, perhaps—” he cuts his eyes to Akira, “—a visit to that café? If you don’t mind, of course.”

“I don’t mind.” Akira smiles, falling into step beside Goro as they head down the street. “You seem very eager to visit a small Outland café, my prince.”

“Ah—I must admit, the fare in the Summer Court, while luxurious, is often a little much for me. And it’s impossible to find a decent cup of coffee in the entire capital.”

“Yes, I noticed that!” Akira laughs. “Everywhere I go, it’s floral teas and wine.”

“Exactly.” Goro rolls his eyes. “Coffee is seen as common, so it’s hard to find in a city that prides itself on being as pretentious as possible.”

“Well, Leblanc has the best coffee in the Seelie Kingdom.”

Goro glances at Akira skeptically. “Really?”

“I’m serious!” Akira smiles, gaze growing distant. “I lived with Sojiro for a while, and you won’t find a Fae more dedicated to the craft of coffee brewing. It may be considered common, but in his hands, it’s art.”

“Goodness. Well, now I really am looking forward to it.” They pass a few shops in silence before Goro can’t help it anymore. “You said you lived with him, the café owner? Are you related?”

“Oh, no. He simply took me in when I got to town. I think he knows my parents, but he’s very secretive.” Akira volunteers the information easily, no hint of discomfort at Goro’s curiosity, so Goro decides to press his luck.

“I don’t think you’ve ever mentioned where you’re from, Akira.”

“I haven’t.” Akira slides him a sly look. “Interested in me, your highness?”

Goro’s first instinct it to stutter and deny it, but he would be lying. “How can I not be?” he says instead. “After what you’ve done?” _What you’ve said._ His heart leaps at the memory of last night, of _I didn’t want you to be alone_. “And according to Ohya, you’ve led a very eventful life.”

Akira’s shoulder slump. “She’s exaggerating,” he groans. “Please forget everything she said.”

“How can I, when she gave me such sage advice?” Enjoying Akira’s reaction, Goro can’t help but tease him further. “A firm hand, indeed.”

“Stop!”

Goro laughs. “It’s alright, your jilted paramours are your business.”

“I told you, there aren’t any!” Akira’s face is nearly completely red. He studiously avoids Goro’s gaze. “Be careful, my prince, or I’ll think you’re jealous.”

Laughter catching on a cough, Goro drops his eyes immediately. “How can I be jealous of people who don’t exist?” he shoots back, voice a little hoarser than he intended.

He’s saved from Akira’s response by the gate of the estate looming over them.

They drop the books off in the study and head back out.

“Oh, right,” Akira speaks up, once again leading Goro through a series of back alleys. “Earlier you said you didn’t agree with the food at Court. Why is that?”

Goro blinks. “Well, not to get too maudlin, but you must know I was adopted, right?”

Akira nods.

“Before I came to the Court, I spent most of my childhood in an orphanage. I was used to much blander food than what nobles are accustomed to.” Goro chuckles, worrying the tip of one gloved finger with his other hand. “Even after all this time, I’m afraid I still have trouble sometimes. Very rarely though. My tastes are probably just boring at this point.”

Akira is quiet for a moment and Goro is suddenly seized by the fear that he’s shared too much, made himself too transparent. Then Akira speaks up in a soft voice that’s almost lost to the general din of the street: “I didn’t know you lived in an orphanage.”

He sounds affected but not put off and Goro breathes a sigh of relief. “That’s not surprising,” he says. “It’s not a secret, and it certainly increases the Archduke’s prestige with the common people—” he tries not to sound bitter, “—but it’s unpleasant to bring up in casual conversation, isn’t it? Nobles prefer lighter topics.”

Akira makes an affirmative sound but he looks lost in thought.

At that moment, a cart rumbles around a corner and onto the narrow cobblestone street, and Akira grabs Goro’s hand to yank him out of the way, which is completely unnecessary—Goro is capable of watching the road—

But any protests die on his lips as Akira pulls him into himself, pressing close to the wall of a shop. Akira doesn’t exude heat, but his nearness is a different kind of warm, a pressure that Goro can’t escape. He breathes out slowly and carefully watches the cart trundle past.

“We’re almost there,” Akira says, so close he’s basically speaking directly in Goro’s ear. “It’s crowded, so stay close to me.”

Before Goro can react, Akira takes the hand he’s still clutching and tucks it against his elbow so casually that Goro almost forgets to be flustered. But he doesn’t forget. And his voice doesn’t return as Akira resumes guiding him through the streets.

The café boasts a small but neat storefront on the end of a row of similarly compact shops. A compact, hand-painted sign next to the door declares _Leblanc_. Over the gabled, two-story roof, Goro can see the slightly taller glass panes of a greenhouse, glinting in the afternoon sun.

“Sojiro grows his own ingredients,” Akira explains, finally detaching himself from Goro to reach for the door handle. Goro can’t help but miss the contact.

“Even the coffee beans?”

“Yes. It takes some specialized magic, but he makes it work.”

“That’s incredible.”

Akira smiles, pulling the door open and gesturing for Goro to enter the building ahead of him. Goro steps over the threshold, finding himself in a dimly-lit shop dominated by a long, dark wood bar. The walls are paneled with wood, lending a cozy atmosphere. Compared to the bright and bustling street outside, the cool interior of Leblanc washes over him like a balm.

The café’s barstools and scattering of tables are empty of customers, but, at the sound of the door opening, a stooped man appears through a doorway behind the bar.

“Welcome in—” he starts before his sharp face creases further with open disbelief. “Well, I’ll be damned. What are you doing here, kid?”

Behind Goro, Akira huffs out an awkward laugh. “Hi, Sojiro.”

Sojiro crosses his arms, eyebrows raised. “I’m waiting.”

“Everything’s fine and I’ll tell you what’s going on, but do you think we could get some coffee first?”

With a start, Sojiro seems to remember Goro is there. “Of course, my apologies.”

“No need,” Goro assures him, allowing Akira to guide him onto a barstool. “Of course you two will want to catch up.”

“Sojiro doesn’t trust me.” Akira settles on the stool beside him. “He probably assumed I’d been fired.”

“You can hardly blame me,” Sojiro grunts, but his tone is fond. He angles a small bow at Goro over the counter. “I’m Sojiro Sakura, owner of Leblanc, at your service.”

Goro inclines his head in response. “Goro Akechi, son of Archduke Masayoshi Shido.”

Instantly, Sojiro stiffens, eyes going wide. “Akira—!”

“It’s alright,” Akira says quickly. “We’re just here on some business regarding the recent outbreak.” He says the words pointedly, holding Sojiro’s furious stare, and Goro gets the distinct impression that what he’s really saying lies underneath.

Sojiro breathes out hard through his nose, jaw clenched.

“Is everything okay?” Goro asks hesitantly, gaze flickering between them. “If now is a bad time—”

“No, it’s fine,” Akira cuts him off, a hand on his arm. “Sojiro was just surprised to be hosting royalty in his humble shop, right?”

Sojiro glares at him for a beat longer before relaxing slightly. “Right,” he says gruffly. “Took me by surprise.”

Goro blinks. “I apologize for suddenly dropping in like this, but when Akira confessed he knew someone who owned a café, I’m afraid I coerced him into bringing me.” He slides a look at Akira, who settles back on his stool, seemingly unconcerned. “It’s entirely my fault.” Turning back to Sojiro, he hitches up his most pleasant, well-rehearsed smile. “He said you make coffee into an art and I simply couldn’t wait to try it.”

Sojiro rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, not unlike Akira does, and clears his throat. “Yes, well—” he coughs slightly and Goro is adept enough at reading people to tell that, past his gruff exterior, Sojiro is embarrassed. “I’m sure he was exaggerating.”

“But, Boss, you always said—”

A sharp glare from Sojiro shuts Akira up with a muffled snort.

“Anyway,” Sojiro continues, placing his hands flat on the countertop. “What can I get for you?”

When Goro inquires, Sojiro lists his best blends, growing more animated at Goro’s obvious interest. After a moment of deliberation, Goro and Akira make their selections and Sojiro hastens into the kitchen to get started. 

Akira leans his elbows on the bar, chin cupped in one hand and eyes wandering around the room.

“Did you work here while you stayed with Sojiro?” Goro asks, folding his hands neatly in front of him.

“Of course.” Akira smiles, glancing at him. “Sojiro made it very clear that if I wasn’t useful, he’d dump me back on the street.”

Goro thinks back to the undeniably fond tone of Sojiro’s voice when Akira darkened his doorway. “I find that hard to believe.”

“Well, that’s what he always said, but—” he casts a look at the kitchen door. “I think he was bluffing.”

“He likes you.” The more he learns about Akira, the more similar his situation seems to his own. Though Akira is being deliberately vague about his origins, it’s obvious he was alone in some capacity before he came to Jongen, where he was taken in by someone he barely knew. With that in mind, the obvious regard Sojiro and Akira have for each other is enough to make Goro’s chest pang with envy. He can’t help but wonder what would have happened if, perhaps, he’d been adopted by someone other than Shido—

But that kind of thing hardly matters at this point.

“Don’t let him hear you say that,” Akira says, shaking Goro out of his thoughts.

“So—” Goro readjusts to the conversation quickly, “—can you make this amazing coffee as well?”

Akira tugs at his fringe. “In a manner of speaking. Sojiro taught me, but I’ll never be as good as him, and I haven’t been able to practice recently.”

“It’s a skill like anything else, I suppose.” Goro hums in theatrical contemplation, tapping his chin. “You really shouldn’t fall out of the habit. If you’d like, you can practice on me when we get back to Court.”

“My prince—” Akira raises his eyebrows, angling toward Goro on his stool. “Are you trying to trick me into making you coffee every day?”

Goro waves a hand. “Every day would be a little excessive. I merely offered you an opportunity to hone your craft. You should be thanking me.”

“Well, in that case—” Akira leans forward, eyes twinkling under his wild bangs. “Thank you, your highness. I’ll be sure to take you up on that opportunity.”

Goro swallows, grateful that the light in the shop is dim enough to hide the flush on his cheeks. How many times has Akira made him blush today alone? He’s lost count. “I live to serve,” he manages, only a little strangled. 

Akira chuckles softly. “Shouldn’t that be my line?”

Before Goro can respond, if he even can, Sojiro reappears, two delicate glass cups in his hands, steam curling fetchingly from the contents. 

Both Sojiro and Akira watch Goro raptly as he raises his cup to take his first sip.

The sound Goro lets out is _not_ a moan, but only because he manages to muffle it with a hand pressed to his mouth.

“See?” Akira asks smugly.

“Suns, that’s incredible.” Goro can’t resist another sip immediately, despite how hot the coffee is. He blinks at Sojiro with newfound reverence. “You truly are an artist, sir.”

“It’s nothing like that.” Sojiro strokes his beard, unable to hide his satisfied expression. “Just years of practice.”

“Akira said you grow your own beans. Is that true?” Goro sits forward on his stool eagerly.

“Yeah, in the greenhouse out back. And that was no easy feat, let me tell you….”

Goro listens attentively as Sojiro explains the challenges of growing and breeding his own coffee plants. Beside him, Akira nurses his own cup, watching the exchange with a smile.

Just as Sojiro starts outlining his custom climate modification spells, the front door swings open noisily, and a slumped figure stumbles inside.

“Ugh, Sojiro,” the new arrival, a short Fae girl with long orange hair, groans. “I need coffee.”

Sojiro tenses, eyes wide at the sight of her. “Futaba, you—”

Again, Akira waves him off. “Hello, Futaba. Up late last night?”

The girl raises her head, squinting at them with bleary eyes before jolting upright. “Akira!” In a flash of flying orange hair, the girl races over and throws herself at Akira, who catches her with a grunt, nearly toppling off his barstool.

Goro watches curiously. Clearly this is another acquaintance from Akira’s time in Jongen, but Sojiro doesn’t look pleased to see her. Goro wonders if his current displeasure is related to his reaction to Goro’s identity. He itches to take notes, like he would back at the palace when overhearing a clandestine conversation, but taking out his notebook right now would be too obvious, so he simply files the observations away for later.

The girl is babbling incessantly into Akira’s ear, still squeezing skinny arms around his neck. “—can’t believe you’re back so soon! You made it sound like you were leaving forever! Did you get fired? What’s the court like? Did you meet any Counselors? Did you—”

Akira, face slightly blue, carefully detangles himself from her. “I didn’t get fired. I’m here on official business.”

“Well, that sounds important. How’d you trick them into letting you handle _official business_?” the girl asks sarcastically.

“Hypnosis.”

“Ah, thought so.” For the first time, she seems to notice Goro sitting at the bar as well and she jumps slightly, shrinking behind Akira. “Oh, you have company,” she says, much quieter.

“Don’t worry, he’s a friend,” Akira assures her. He doesn’t try to pull her forward, like adults always did to Goro when he acted shy, simply gestures to Goro with an encouraging smile over his shoulder. “This is Goro Akechi, son of Archduke Masayoshi Shido. And this—” he looks back at Goro, motioning to the girl, “is Futaba Sakura. She’s Sojiro’s adopted daughter.”

“It’s nice to meet you.” Goro bows his head as the girl edges nervously out from behind Akira.

“The...Archduke’s—” she cuts her eyes to Akira, fisting her hands in the skirt of her tunic.

“He’s a friend,” Akira repeats calmly.

Goro makes another mental note. “Yes,” he supplies, smiling as disarmingly as he can manage. “Akira and I are here looking into the recent outbreak.”

“Oh.” Futaba relaxes slightly, even offering Goro a stilted bow. “Nice to meet you too.”

“Futaba, your coffee,” Sojiro says, placing a cup on the bar. Goro didn’t even notice him leaving.

“Thanks.” Still a little reserved, Futaba slides onto the stool on Akira’s other side, wrapping her hands around the cup in front of her. Her coffee is much paler than Goro and Akira’s, diluted with cream.

“Everyone seems very eager to believe you’ve been fired,” Goro observes, returning to his own cup.

Akira sighs. “It’s slander.”

“No one could believe it when he said he was running off to work for a Noble,” Futaba says, hunching over the counter and eyeing Goro over the rim of her glass. Her gaze is openly curious, raking over Goro with startling intensity. “I didn’t either until I met Count Yoshida.”

“Why is that?”

“Akira is—how do I say this—” she tilts her head, long hair swaying, “—a trouble-maker.”

Goro smiles into his coffee. “I don’t doubt it.” If the way he’d so effortlessly disordered Goro’s own life is any indication, Akira seems to have a proclivity for chaos.

Futaba lets out a sharp cackle, elbowing Akira in the ribs. “He’s got you pegged already, Joker. What’d you do to the poor guy?”

“Nothing,” Akira insists, looking affronted.

Since teasing Akira seems to be the theme of the day, Goro leans forward to smile impishly at Futaba. “Do you really want to know?”

“Yes!” she grins.

“Well, let’s see—he followed me all the way out here without telling me and then snuck up on me in a dark garden to announce his presence.”

Futaba claps gleefully.

“There was no sneaking involved,” Akira states, glaring at his coffee.

“I suppose that’s true,” Goro hums. “Nothing that loud and clumsy could be considered _sneaking_.”

“What?” Futaba leans closer. “But Joker’s usually so good at creeping around!”

The night that Akira took him by surprise in the Celestial Tower flashes across his memory. “Do you have a lot of experience prowling in the dark, Akira?”

Akira opens his mouth, but before he can deny it, Futaba laughs loudly. “More than you’d think.” She bumps her shoulder against Akira’s. “Did you tell him about that thing with Ohya? Oh!” Her eyes light up. “Or what about that time you and I—”

“Futaba!” Akira cuts her off, waving his hands and glancing frantically between Goro and Sojiro.

Sojiro just shakes his head, turning to head back into the kitchen. “If I don’t hear it, I don’t have to deal with it,” he grumbles before disappearing.

“Please go on, Futaba,” Goro entreats politely, lifting his cup to hide the smug smile he can’t stop from curling across his face. “I’m simply dying to know about Akira’s illicit exploits.”

“Well, when he first started living here he—”

“Futaba, I can’t believe you’re going to rat me out to the Archduke’s son,” Akira interrupts, incredulous.

“That’s what you get for ditching me.” Futaba sticks her tongue out childishly. “You made this bed, now lie in it, Joker.” 

Sufficiently amused and with plenty of ammo for later, Goro decides to cut Akira a break. “Joker? Is that a nickname?”

Swiveling to face him, Akira gives Goro a long-suffering look. “Futaba gave it to me.”

“It’s because he thinks he’s so funny,” Futaba says drolly, taking a sip of coffee.

“I thought it was because I’m mysterious and unpredictable.”

“That’s just what Hifumi says. And that’s only because she’s in love with you.”

“She’s not.” Akira levels Goro with an intent gaze. “No one is in love with me.”

Futaba makes a drawn-out _ehhhh_ sound, bracing her elbows on the bar. “Debatable.”

“I already told you that your romantic endeavors are none of my business.” Goro sips his coffee, making a concerted effort to appear uninterested.

“There are no—”

“Anyway, I think the name suits you.” Goro sets his cup down with a soft clink and offers Akira a sincere smile. “Now we both have nicknames, Joker.”

Akira blinks at him, lips slightly parted before they curl into a smile to match his. “I suppose that’s true, my prince.”

Behind Akira, Futaba rolls her eyes. “Are you two gonna be here for the Lantern Banquet?” she asks, drawing their attention back to her.

Goro does some quick calculations. The next True Night is the day after tomorrow. Truthfully, Goro had no idea how long this assignment would last when he started out, but now, with the Archives to investigate and the fact that the Head Healer is away, it seems they may be here for a while. “Most likely,” he responds carefully. “We’re looking into some leads that may take us a few days.”

“So you’re looking into the Darkening?” Futaba raises her eyebrows astutely. “Are you here because this is where the outbreak started?”

“Do you know something about it, Futaba?”

She shrugs. “As much as anyone else.”

“I hope no one you know is—”

“No, not—uh—not now.” She chews on her bottom lip for a moment, glancing at the door to the kitchen. “Several...several years ago, um—” her voice drops and Goro leans forward slightly to catch her next words. “My...my mother....”

Goro raises a hand to his mouth in horror. “Oh, I’m...I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” she insists. She sucks in a deep breath. “I’m...better now. Things were rough for a while, but Akira really helped.” She nudges Akira with her elbow and he smiles at her, leaning sideways to nudge her back.

“I am relieved to hear it,” Goro says.

Futaba nods and wraps her hands around her coffee cup, eyebrows pinching together. “The town’s pretty freaked out. Everyone tries to hide it but...a few weeks ago, a group of people went nuts and burned down a clinic. Everyone got out, but….”

Goro remembers Ann’s account of torched buildings and uneasy townspeople. “The situation is troubling,” he sighs. “The disease doesn’t seem to spread via normal means, but that’s hard to explain to frightened people.”

“Yeah.” Futaba stares into her coffee, back bowed and expression heavy. “Frightened people don’t listen well. To anything.”

Goro cocks his head at her tone. Clearly she’s not only talking about the outbreak, but Goro isn’t nearly familiar enough to pry without looking rude, so he merely files it away for later. 

“How about we go to the Banquet together?” Akira asks gently. He glances back at Goro. “As long as it’s okay with his highness, of course.”

Upon seeing how Futaba perks up, how can Goro refuse? Not to mention, Goro finds he quite likes the idea of attending a Lantern Banquet with Akira, not just catching glimpses of him in the crowd. The thought sends a sharp swoop of sensation through him and he quickly hides his face in his cup. “I see no reason not to,” he responds stiffly.

Futaba brightens considerably and starts chattering happily about some contraption she’s building, Akira nodding along sagely while Goro struggles to keep his mind off the potential future he just committed himself to.

After a few minutes, Sojiro returns and grills Akira about what he’s been up to since he left. Goro lets the little family catch up, sipping his coffee and enjoying the warmth that seeps through his gloves where he grasps the cup.

* * *

“Sojiro and Futaba are very nice.” The streets are much emptier on their way back to the estate, dyed sunset colors by the low-hanging suns, so Goro’s voice carries easily.

Akira hums in agreement. He’s close enough that their shoulders brush every few steps, even though there’s no reason to be. The reduced foot traffic allows them ample room to either side as they weave through the town. 

Despite this, Goro feels no need to move away. “I’ve learned a lot about you today,” he observes offhandedly.

“Keeping notes, my prince?”

Goro knows that if he turns to look, Akira will be smirking. It’s in his tone. “Not officially. Should I be?”

“No. I’m not nearly interesting enough for that.”

“Given what I’ve learned today, that’s simply untrue.”

Akira slouches forward enough that Goro has no choice but to see his crooked smile, steel eyes glowing in the sunset, never breaking stride. “Is that your professional opinion?”

Goro is used to the farcical back-and-forth of Court conversation, the miniature chess matches that take place behind closed curtains and in furtive glances, the constant scrutinizing and tip-toeing and meaningful smiles. He knows the rules to that game, wrote some of them himself. But this game, the one moving behind Akira’s steady gaze, is one he doesn’t know. 

He folds his hands primly behind his back, shaking a lock of hair out of his eyes. “Perhaps.”

Huffing out a laugh, Akira leans back, rolling his neck languidly. “That’s alright. I guess we’re even, since I’ve learned a lot about you too.”

“Nothing worth remembering,” Goro says hastily.

“That’s _simply untrue,_” Akira mimics, hands in his pockets. “How many Fae know that their beloved prince loves coffee? Or that he’s a secret romantic? Or that he loves old machines?” he nudges against Goro’s shoulder and the contact feels like a bolt of lightning. “Or that he’s secretly really _mean_?”

Goro gasps, affronted. “I am _not_—”

“Don’t even try to deny it, your highness,” Akira grins. “You’ve done nothing but torment me all day.” 

Crossing his arms, Goro turns his head away from Akira. “Don’t be so fatalistic. I was hardly _tormenting_ you.”

“Then what would you call it?”

“_Teasing_, if anything, I—” a worrying thought suddenly presses his lips together. Did he really go too far? Aside from Ann, Goro doesn’t interact with Fae his own age very often and his persona in front of the nobility is so carefully crafted that there’s hardly an ounce of truth in it. Akira, for all his intensity and strangeness, made him feel relaxed in a way he’s never experienced before. Made him feel _himself_, whoever that is. Perhaps it made him too complacent. “I—I—” he stammers, eyes dropping to his feet, focusing on the cobblestones passing by. “I apologize if I made you uncomfortable. In the future, I will—”

“Wait, hold on—” Akira cuts in, his tone sobering rapidly. “I’m not actually upset, my prince.”

Goro keeps his eyes on the ground. “I see. Regardless, I will endeavor not to—” this time, he breaks off at the sensation of a hand sliding into his.

Akira speeds up until he’s a few steps ahead of Goro before turning to face him, walking backward. Goro raises his head, eyebrows furrowed.

“My prince,” Akira smiles. “I wouldn’t have it any other way. Be as mean as you want. Please. I’ve never been happier to be tormented.”

Blood rushes to Goro’s face and he looks down again, fixating on where their hands are linked, Akira’s pale skin nearly glowing against the dark leather of his gloves. “It’s nothing to be excited about,” he mutters.

When Akira laughs, it’s high and clear, very different from his customary low chuckles, and Goro can’t help the way his mouth turns up in response. “How can I not be excited? This is a side of you that no one else gets to see.”

He’s right. The Court knows him as Archduke Shido’s perfect son, diligent and patient, always standing to the side with a helpful insight or ready hand. Ann is a dear friend and the first person he ever felt comfortable relaxing around, but even she gets a modified version. He can’t risk scaring her off with his true personality. The few times he spoke to Akira at the palace and the day they just spent together are the rudest he’s ever been to anyone. And Akira looks nothing short of thrilled.

“I’m a little concerned at how pleased you are to be bullied,” Goro says.

Akira tugs him forward a little, a playful glint in his eyes. “Only by you.”

The urge to hide his face in his hands nearly bowls him over, but Goro resists. Gathering himself, he tosses Akira a haughty look. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” _Don’t let me get used to this. _

“I never do.” Akira’s grin looks pointier than usual in the setting sunlight.

He falls back into step with Goro but doesn’t let go of his hand. Goro thinks he should probably pull away.

He doesn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come whine about P5R with me on [tumblr!](https://mistresseast.tumblr.com)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A very perplexing research session.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter a bit shorter than usual but there's a lot of information here and i didn't want anything to distract from The Point.
> 
> also who else is freaking out over p5r?? i followed the live updates religiously and it's so much to take in. they really said shuake rights. they could have been, uh, more explicit about it, but i enjoyed it nonetheless.

The next morning finds Goro and Akira hard at work in the estate’s small but comfortable study. 

Goro’s first priority is to pen a letter to Ann, assuring her that he arrived safely and already has a few leads to follow up on. He inquires about Shiho, hoping that she hasn’t worsened in the brief time he’s been away from Court. Communication can travel much faster than bodies, so he can expect to be quickly updated if something happens. He deliberates on whether or not to tell her about his unexpected assistant, recalling her meaningful words and glances, but ultimately decides to inform her, hoping that she might worry less if she knows he has help.

Count Yoshida’s second letter arrived the day before, informing the staff of Akira’s presence, a little late, but appreciated nonetheless. Goro writes a quick reply to him, thanking him for his generosity, both in the use of his estate and the use of his page.

Finally, he compiles a quick status report for Shido, succinctly informing him that he is to meet with the Head Healer when they return to the town and that he may find some information in Jongen’s Archives.

That done, he sends the letters off with a servant and turns to the more interesting task at hand.

Akira is already deep into a thick leather records volume, hunched over where the book is spread on the table, occasionally scratching a note onto the blank parchment sitting beside him. The library is airy and bright, sunlight streaming in through the tall, rounded windows, and Akira has already discarded his outer robe. One of the windows is cracked open, allowing an occasional breeze to card through the room, ruffling the very tips of Akira’s wild curls.

When he catches himself staring at the play of the shadows caught in Akira’s exposed collarbone, Goro shakes his head imperceptibly and settles into the chair across from Akira, pulling a tome toward himself at random.

The record books are as dry and technical as always, the varied handwritings of different Archivists documenting the minutiae of life in Jongen. Interestingly enough, it’s the abundance of different hands that tells the biggest story. Clearly, the Jongen Archives used to be much bigger with many more Fae employed there. From what Goro can tell, Ohya and her partner are the only official Archivists working there at present. They most likely have assistants, but the number can’t be anywhere near what the older records suggest. The fire must have really decimated the collection.

Goro thinks about the Summer Court’s expansive Archives, huge even with documents starting only a few thousand years back, and wonders how much information was truly lost during The War. To his knowledge, other than the King, there are no Fae still living who were around during the conflict. Most people are only one or two generations removed, but, combined with the damaged Archives, it seems that firsthand knowledge of the War is lost.

Except, he realizes as he turns a page in the biography he’s leafing through and sees a date from the beginning of the War, for whatever is enclosed in these books.

He leans over the pages and reads hungrily, one hand scribbling notes without his full attention.

The biography is from a minor official back when Jongen had a larger governing body and is light on details of the War itself, and what there is matches up with what Goro knows already. The Seelie and Unseelie used to exist harmoniously with free travel between the Kingdoms, but when the Darkening reached epidemic proportions among the Seelie, King Yaldaboath lead a crusade to drive the Unseelie from their lands and sealed the barrier, virtually eradicating the Darkening, but not before it claimed nearly an entire generation of young Fae.

Goro pauses over that detail, mentioned offhandedly at the end of a chapter. Apparently, the first Darkening epidemic, while seemingly indiscriminate, had wreaked the most havoc on Fae who were too young to even join the army. Goro supposes that weaker Fae would be more susceptible, but if the Unseelie really did spread the disease, wouldn’t the enlisted Fae be more at risk?

Frowning, he makes a note.

Many of the records volumes they found are regarding domestic affairs and contain only the most perfunctory details about the War. However, a few of the oldest ones feature hints of what life was like when the Unseelie lived alongside the Seelie population of Jongen. As an Outland town close to the border, Jongen apparently had a sizeable Unseelie population, and even though the records aren’t focused on culture, the casual mentions glow like beacons on the yellowed paper.

One entry explains that a shipment of pumpkins had to be rerouted to accommodate a parade in the primarily Unseelie quarter of town. Goro snorts softly at the Archivist’s irritated note wondering why the Lord hadn’t checked the calendar before scheduling a delivery on that route.

_Had he simply done the barest courtesy of inquiring, he would have discovered that the day in question was the Unseelie Festival of Masks, which is usually celebrated with a parade and, shockingly, occurs on the same day every year._

“Find something?” 

Akira’s soft voice draws Goro’s attention away from the words and he blinks, adjusting to the sight of Akira’s curious expression, one cheek cupped in his hand. “Ah, I don’t think so. Just something a little humorous.” He drums his fingers idly on the open book. “There doesn’t seem to be much specific information, but there are a few references to the Unseelie in these records, beyond what we already know about the War. It’s interesting.”

“Most information on the Unseelie was lost after the War, right?”

“Yes, the fighting damaged Archives all across the Kingdom. Additionally, there’s no one still around with firsthand knowledge. The official story is all we know and all we’re really allowed to talk about.” Goro smiles ruefully. “The mere topic is taboo, especially at Court. So it’s fascinating to see these little, mundane details. This record mentions an Unseelie holiday, casually, as though it’s nothing to get worked up about, but I’ve never heard anything like it.” He traces the tip of his finger under the handwritten words. “Festival of Masks, huh.”

Akira straightens up, lacing his hands in front of him on the table. “Does it say anything else?”

Goro scans the page. “No. And that’s tragic, isn’t it?” He angles a look at Akira. “This Archivist didn’t know how rare their words would be, so why would they elaborate? Now we may never know the reality of life when the Seelie and Unseelie coexisted.” He sits back, brow furrowed. “Perhaps it’s prejudiced of me, but I never considered the possibility of the Unseelie having holidays. We have plenty, of course, the Seelie are always looking for a reason to party, but I never….” He catches his bottom lip between his teeth, resuming his tapping.

“Why would that be prejudiced?” Akira tilts his head, the sunlight briefly catching in the grey of his irises and bleaching them of color. “The Unseelie are cruel and violent. They spread the Darkening and burned the Archives in retaliation when the King tried to drive them out. Of course you’d never expect such a savage people to have holidays.” There’s a hard edge to his voice that makes Goro’s fingers pause.

Curling his hand into a fist, Goro leans forward again, propping his elbow on the table and resting his chin on his closed hand. “That is what the Court says about them,” he agrees, watching Akira with interest. “But I’ve always wondered what stories are told in the Outlands. What have you heard about the Unseelie?”

Akira’s eyes drop back to the book open in front of him. “Pretty much the same thing,” he says flatly. “Although, some tales are more akin to ghost stories than anything else.”

“Really?”

“The mere word isn’t as taboo out here, but they’ve taken on a mythic quality.” Akira trails one finger around the edge of the book cover. “Children are warned not to play in the woods too long or the Unseelie will get them. Traveling merchants sell charms that are supposed to ward them away.” He shakes his head, mouth twisting in disgust. “As though they’re spirits or something.”

“Yes, that certainly seems childish,” Goro agrees. “By all accounts, they were as much flesh and blood as you and I.”

Akira glances back up at him, disgusted expression morphing into a wry smile. “I always thought so as well.” He looks down again. “It got even worse when people started getting sick.”

“That makes sense.” Goro taps his cheek thoughtfully. In Court, the Seelie are regarded as a vanquished military foe, but out here they seem to be regarded as a supernatural force of evil. The logic tracks, but the dichotomy is still intriguing. “What do you think about the Unseelie, Akira?”

Akira snaps his head up. “Personally?”

“Yes.”

Leaning back with a contemplative hum, Akira grabs his pen, absently spinning it between his fingers. Goro has to work very hard not to be distracted by the movement.

“I mean, it’s all true, isn’t it?” Akira says after a beat. “The Unseelie are creatures of darkness. They spread the Darkening and the King ejected them to protect his subjects. That’s the whole reason we’re here.”

“That’s certainly _a_ reason. But that didn’t answer my question.”

Akira laughs, catching the spinning pen between two fingers and pressing the thin glass tip to his bottom lip. “Do you want to know my darkest imaginings, my prince?”

Goro’s gaze lingers on the stretch of his smile against the bright blue of the pen. “I merely asked your opinion.”

“Very well.” Akira leans forward, balancing the pen between both hands, idly tracing the swirled glass. Again, Goro has to fight not to stare. “I think they’re hideous creatures, with skin as black as pitch and claws like crescent moons.” Eyes glittering, Akira’s smile widens. “Their mouths are full of jagged, dripping teeth, and their eyes bulge from their sunken faces. I think they’re eight feet tall and covered in maggots and rot. Their very touch is poison, corrupting every living thing they encounter. They drink blood and eat each other to survive.” His intense expression dims slightly, manic smile softening. “And they’re foolish. Desperate. Selfish.” He presses his lips together for a moment, his gaze distant. “I pity them.” He refocuses on Goro. “Don’t you?”

Goro blinks, ears ringing with Akira’s twisted poetry. “If that’s all true, then why should I? They’re certainly more formidable than the Seelie.”

“Power isn’t everything.”

“Perhaps.” Goro picks up his own pen, rolling it between his fingers. “You certainly have a wild imagination, Akira.”

“Only the best for my prince.” He relaxes back into his usual slouching posture, laying his pen on the table. “But what do you think about the Unseelie?”

Goro purses his lips. “Well, if the stories are to be believed, your description wasn’t far off, perhaps a bit fanciful, but the Unseelie are frequently described as monstrous. Although a few myths cast them as beautiful in a sinister way. Like spiders. But I suspect they don’t look too different from us.”

Akira raises his eyebrows. “Really?”

“Well, I hardly think they would have lived alongside the Seelie for so long if they were significantly disfigured or alarming to look at.” Goro taps the end of his pen against his chin. “Seelie are vain by nature. But it makes sense that the narrative had become grotesque and exaggerated. It makes it easier to hate them.”

“It’s propaganda.”

“Well, of course. No one actually believes the Unseelie, an entire race of Fae, have claws and venomous fangs. At least, no adult.”

“But what if they really do look like that?”

“Then I envy them.” Goro sighs. “Claws and fangs certainly would have solved a lot of my problems when I was younger.”

“At the orphanage?”

Goro stiffens. He didn’t really mean to say that, and now Akira is peering at him with open curiosity. “I just meant—” he hurries to clarify, “—haven’t we all wished for claws and fangs at some point? Anyway—” he leans pointedly over his book. “We still have work to do.”

After a beat, the soft shuffling of paper tells him that Akira has returned to his research and he releases a silent, relieved breath. People knowing that he lived in an orphanage is one thing. Divulging the specifics of his life there is something else, something he’d rather avoid. 

The rest of the volume passes uneventfully but quickly, his Logic Art allowing him to breeze through the thick tome much faster than other Fae. Akira also seems to be clipping along at a good pace, making Goro wonder if Logic is another of his mysterious Arts. Perhaps when they’re closer, he’ll ask.

He makes notes on any mention of the Unseelie or the War, but most of the details are vague. The military records must have been among the casualties of the fire, if there were any in Jongen at all. As a civilian town, it’s possible they never saw organized military activity, though, being so close to the Barrier, that seems unlikely. In any case, there’s nothing that points to the cause of the Darkening. In fact, there are very few references to the disease at all in the daily records from the time right before the War.

Rubbing his temple, Goro reaches the end of the volume and flips it shut, pushing it away and reaching for the next in the stack. This one is much smaller, fitting easily in his hand, and bound much less professionally than the record volume or the biography. The cover is stained and faded with no title. Goro opens it, recalling it to be a small collection of poems spanning the decades before the War, according to the date inside the light blue cover. It was clearly a personal belonging at some point, handwritten notes littering the margins, and old enough that some of the poems used defunct Scripts.

Since the official records aren’t proving helpful, perhaps something a little more artistic?

Goro scans through a few poems, not picking up on a specific theme. One is about love, the next is about nature, the one after is a disjointed metaphor involving building a house. He’s reading one that seems to be describing a festival, wondering if he should just go back to picking through records, when an unfamiliar phrase catches his eye.

It’s one of the oldest poems in the book, written with many characters that aren’t in use anymore, but that shouldn’t be a problem. Goro is proficient in all versions of the language, and his Logic allows him to decipher even unknown characters, but he can’t read this.

Sitting up, he reads back over the poem. It’s a lyrical version of what seems to be a massive Lantern Banquet in the capital, with plenty of artistic descriptions of the floating lanterns and twinkling stars and elegant Fae; it meanders through a dance sequence before finally culminating in the appearance of—

“What the—” Goro mutters, squinting angrily at the page.

“Something wrong?”

“I can’t read this phrase.” Turning the book around, he shoves it toward Akira, pointing to the line in question. “It’s an old Script, but I can read the rest of it, so….”

Akira narrows his eyes at the page, scanning the poem. “_A whirl of skirts, a fluttering of wings, a light step—”_ he reads under his breath, “—_an exaltation, greeting Q—”_ He freezes, face going blank.

Goro furrows his eyebrows. “Akira?”

Akira shakes his head and leans forward, closer to the book, and mouths the words again, stopping in the same place with a frustrated huff. “I...I can’t read it either. I thought, when I first looked at it that it said—” Again, his expression slackens, for just a split second this time, before his brows pinch together and he frowns. “I can’t figure it out.”

Goro glances between Akira and the book. _What just happened?_ “Alright,” he says slowly. “This is a little odd. Let’s see—” he turns the book back to himself and beckons Akira to join him on his side of the table.

Akira hastens to obey, rounding the table to lean over his shoulder.

Goro traces a few stanzas with the end of his pen. “This whole poem is a build up to these last few lines, and the way it’s structured, I can tell it’s an introduction.” He underlines a phrase. “The connotation here is that we’re about to be in the presence of someone important. I can tell by the switch from formal to _extra_ formal.” Akira nods, near enough that Goro can feel the air displaced by the movement, but he ignores it. “And this—” he points to the word right before the unknown phrase, “—is a very specific term used when introducing royalty. Not just nobility; it’s only used in reference to the royal family. Even in poetry, it would be very odd for this word to be used in any other context. So we have to assume this—” he taps the phrase, “—is the name of the royalty being introduced.”

“This poem was written in—” Akira checks the date beside the title. “Oh, so wouldn’t that be the King?”

“It should, but look—” Goro pulls a piece of parchment over and scribbles King Yaldaboath’s name, every variation he can think of, including the old dialects. “This doesn’t look anything like this phrase.”

Akira looks between the two. “That’s true.” He squints at the book again. “This is so strange,” he mutters. “It’s like I can...almost….”

It _is_ strange. When Goro looks at the phrase, he feels like she should be able to read it, like he recognizes all the parts, but when he tries to put them together, nothing happens. And then there’s Akira’s bizarre reaction. He makes a note about the poem, copying the phrase stroke for stroke, even if he can’t understand what he’s writing.

“You don’t think—” Akira starts hesitantly, peering at the book. “That it could be talking about someone else?”

Goro frowns. “I mean, it’s _possible_, but this word really isn’t—”

“No, I mean a different royal. Someone who’s not the King.”

“Of course not. King Yaldaboath was on the throne by this time and he doesn’t have any family.”

“When did the King take the throne?” Akira asks, leaning one hip against the table and angling toward Goro. “What year?”

“It was—” Goro reaches for the answer, sure it’s stored with all the other dates he has memorized, but nothing comes up. His mouth hangs open silently. “Hold on—” he thinks back, scanning his history. “It was before the War—” he knows the exact dates the War began and ended, as well as the date the first Unseelie Expulsion Decree was issued. He knows the date of the fire in the Palace Archives as well as dozens, hundreds of other significant dates throughout Seelie history, the births and deaths of previous rulers, ascension dates, festival dates, the publishing dates of important texts—but he can’t recall the date that King Yaldaboath ascended the throne.

“I don’t know,” he admits, puzzled. “Do you?”

“No. I can’t remember the date.”

“He’s been King for at least several thousand years. That’s a long time, but not the longest.”

“Who was the monarch before him?”

Goro glances up at Akira. “Forget your history lessons?”

He shrugs. “It’s never been my strength.”

“I see.” Goro crosses his arms. “The monarch before him was Queen Margaret, and she died a few hundred years before the War began, so I suppose his ascension was around that time. I don’t know why the specifics have slipped my mind. Unlike you, history _is_ a strength of mine.” Due to the destruction of texts predating the War, most history from that period is relayed orally and many details are lost, but the structure is present. Goro can recite the Seelie monarchs stretching back hundreds of thousands of years, but he refrains at the moment.

“It is strange that someone as intelligent as you can’t remember.”

“Why do I feel like you’re not actually complimenting me?”

“No idea.” Akira’s mouth slants up in a sly smile. “The dearth of information is making this unduly difficult.”

Goro sighs. “You’re right. I’m not entirely sure what I should be looking for. To be honest, I have my doubts about the Unseelie being the source of the Darkening.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Unless we’ve been secretly invaded, the number of cases recently doesn’t make sense if the Unseelie are truly to blame.” He glances sideways at Akira. “Do you think we’ve been invaded?”

Akira tilts his head, tucking his hands into his pockets. “If they’re as monstrous as the stories go, then I don’t see how that’s possible. Even if they aren’t, the Barrier is impassable for numbers large enough to cause such widespread infection.” His eyes narrow. “But the King thinks it’s the Unseelie, right? Are you saying he’s wrong?”

“I’m _saying_ there’s a lot about the situation we don’t understand.” Goro taps the biography he finished earlier. “This book indicates that the Darkening didn’t start getting bad until right before the War, and there are virtually no references to it in these records—” he moves his hand to lie flat on the records volume, “—which are from about fifty years before the War, when the concentration of Unseelie was supposedly at its peak. That’s a little strange, don’t you think?”

Akira’s eyes linger on his gloved hand before migrating back to his face. “It is strange,” he agrees. “I wonder if there was a catalyst that started the outbreak.”

Goro bites his lip. “We’ve always been told that the Darkening was always present, but even if that’s true, what I’ve read makes it seem as though it suddenly got much worse. A catalyst would make sense, but nothing comes to mind.” He growls in frustration, pinching the bridge of his nose. “The more I think about it, the less I understand it.”

“How about a break, then?”

Goro feels Akira’s weight leave the table and looks up to see him stretching his arms over his head. He swings his arms down and rolls his neck, smiling at Goro. “Maybe something to stretch our legs?”

Keeping his eyes on Akira’s face to prevent them from sticking on the sloping curve of his neck, Goro asks, “Did you have something in mind?”

“Well, you did promise me a sparring match.”

Goro blinks. “I wouldn’t say I _promised_, but—” he glances out the window. The suns are just beginning to lower themselves in the sky, signaling the middle of the afternoon. The breeze from outside is temperate and the gardens past the glass do look much more inviting than the library at present. “Alright.” He pushes himself to his feet, stretching his arms like Akira and enjoying how the tension releases from his stiff shoulders. “You’ve tempted me.”

Akira’s gaze roves up and down his frame with an intention that can’t be denied and his smile grows. “Have I?”

Goro smiles back, folding his hands behind his back. “But I must warn you, I’m very good.”

“As am I.” Akira gestures toward the door. “Shall we?”

After assuring the Stewardess that they would be completely safe and wrapping their blades, Goro and Akira head outside.

Akira casts an appreciative look at Goro’s rapier. “Custom-made?”

“Of course.” Goro balances the sword in his hand, keeping his grip light and twirling it easily. The fine silver of the handle catches the sunlight, the intricate scrolling designs glinting brightly. “I designed it myself.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“And functional.” While slim and light, the rapier is deceptively sturdy, reinforced with complex spellwork woven directly into the metal during forging. It’s decorative but deadly, a nasty surprise for anyone who mistakes it as an ornamental piece. “Yours as well. I’ve never seen anything quite like them.”

Akira smiles and tosses his daggers into the air, where they both flip twice before landing perfectly in his hands. They’re a little longer than the knife Goro keeps on his thigh, obviously used for close-quarters combat, and seem to be completely comprised of a matte black metal Goro is unfamiliar with. They’re not obsidian, which has more gleam, but Goro doesn’t profess to be an expert at weapons manufacturing. Regardless, their smooth, geometric profiles are striking and Akira seems utterly confident as he takes a position on the manicured lawn.

Goro’s muscles buzz. It’s been a while since he got to fight full-out, too busy running the Court’s errands to sneak away for practice, but his Art keeps the violence fresh in his body, and he can’t resist a smile as he counters Akira.

“Don’t hold back, my prince,” Akira grins.

“Of course not.” A breeze dances through the garden, blowing a few of the longer strands of Goro’s hair across his face. He blows them away and huffs. “Just one moment,” he instructs, digging in his pocket and producing Ann’s ribbon. Quickly, he gathers his hair into a ponytail and ties the ribbon tightly to keep his eyes clear. “Alright.” 

When he looks back up, Akira is staring at him blankly, daggers nearly slipping out of his fingers.

“Akira?”

Akira starts, readjusting his grip. “Ready?” he asks, a little strangled.

Goro drops into a battle stance like a puzzle piece slotting into place. “Ready.”

Within seconds, Goro realizes Akira also possesses the Art of Grace.

Akira always moves with a sort of unusual grace if you know what to look for, long legs folding and unfolding like he’s used to having more space, spidery fingers tracing the edges of his surroundings, never grasping too tightly. Akira is balanced and loping, but it never seems to fit right, always a little off-rhythm. But when he fights—

It all comes together. He leaps and flips effortlessly, meeting Goro’s strikes with precision, not a second of hesitation to his movements. _This_ is where all that restless energy is supposed to be, focused into crystallized intensity that takes Goro’s breath away with each swift dodge and sharp blow.

But Goro’s not about to be outdone. He’s always thought of himself as a bit of a performer when it comes to fighting, but compared to Akira’s acrobatic style, he is efficiency itself. Arts want to be used, they exist to inspire and enhance and Goro has always felt the call of his Combat Art with an undeniable ache. It crows with delight now, as he dances and circles around Akira, feignting and ducking in an effort to catch each other off guard. The dulled clanging of their wrapped blades echoes throughout the garden.

Akira gets lucky with a swipe and Goro overbalances, Akira following him down as he lands on his back. Before Akira can pin him, he hooks a foot behind Akira’s ankle and rolls, sending him toppling. Then they’re both up again, circling each other.

Goro’s never been so well-matched with anyone in his life. No teacher or Combat expert has ever come close. Akira acts like he can almost read his mind, reacting to the slightest twitch with unerring accuracy, and Goro quickly picks up on his tells as well, eyes growing sharper, more focused the longer they fight until they’re virtually moving in tandem, neither able to outsmart the other.

It’s intoxicating. The blood crashing through his veins, the rapid pounding of his heart, the flash of Akira’s teeth as his lips pull back in a crooked smile. They glint like blades themselves.

Goro can’t help the manic laugh that escapes him. Akira’s smile widens.

Time seems to freeze, a pocket of stillness around their unrehearsed, perfect dance, until it all rushes in at once as Goro’s back hits the grass, his sword several feet away, with Akira above him, one hand pinning his chest, the other pressing the wrapped blade of his dagger to the underside of Goro’s throat.

“This brings back memories,” Akira pants, backlit by the suns. “Although the other night, you would have really killed me.”

“I would have,” Goro responds breathlessly, eyes darting between his sword and Akira’s face.

Akira cocks his head, feline and pleased. “Do you yield, my prince?”

Goro barks out a short laugh before levering his leg up, catching it behind Akira’s thigh and using the momentum to flip them. A quick jab frees Akira of one dagger and it sails away to bounce into the grass near Goro’s sword, while a sharp twist awards Goro with possession of the other one. He clicks his tongue, wrapping a gloved hand loosely around Akira’s throat to keep him down. “Never _ask, _Akira,” he says, leaning over to smile directly in Akira’s dazed face. “If they can still talk, you’re not finished.”

Akira blinks, mouth hanging open, chest heaving.

Goro smirks, spinning Akira’s dagger between his fingers. “I’ll take your silence as concession.” At Akira’s jerky nod, he sits back slightly, releasing Akira’s throat and laughing triumphantly. Still breathing heavily, muscles burning pleasantly, he holds the dagger up to the light and scans it curiously. “These really are remarkable,” he marvels. “Could you tell me how they were made?”

“They were gifted to me,” Akira answers, voice stilted. “I’m afraid I don’t know much about them.”

“I see.” Before he can unwrap the blade for a better look, the sensation of hands settling on his hips makes him jump. He looks down, realizing for the first time that his winning maneuver placed him completely astride Akira, legs bent on either side of Akira’s waist. His cheeks, already flushed from exertion, flood with heat and his already pounding heart doubles in speed. “Oh, suns, I—” he scrambles upright. “I—I’m so sorry, that must have been uncomfortable—here, let me—” keeping his eyes averted, he reaches down to offer Akira a hand.

A low chuckle accompanies the slide of a hand into his. “So considerate for someone who just kicked my ass.”

Goro stares at the ground as Akira rolls to his feet. “It was hardly that unbalanced. You fight extremely well.”

Perhaps it’s Goro’s imagination, but Akira’s hand seems to linger around his own for longer than necessary before he steps back to collect their blades. “As do you, my prince.”

Goro trades Akira’s dagger for his sword and traces the filigree of the handle restlessly, muscles jumpy from tension. “Where were you trained?”

Akira shrugs. “Here and there.” He sheathes one dagger and starts carefully unwrapping the other, black metal glinting in the sunlight with each revealed inch. “I’ve learned from a lot of different people, so I’m afraid I don’t have a uniform style.”

“Combat styles are mostly posh nonsense anyway,” Goro says dismissively, the words of his private tutors ringing in his head: _The Archduke’s son will not fight like a street urchin._ “Your style is very unique. A little...showy, perhaps.”

Smiling, Akira tucks the unwrapped dagger away and starts on the other one. “Yes, I’ve heard that before. But I must admit—” he glances up at Goro from under his bangs, “—I’ve never enjoyed sparring this much.”

Goro can’t help but smile back, flustered as he is. “Indeed, it’s been a while since I had that much...fun.”

“I suppose it really is about having the right partner.”

A flash of heat licks up Goro’s spine. “What—”

“My prince!”

A voice pops the fraught bubble surrounding them and Goro jerks around to see the Stewardess hurrying across the lawn, waving something in her hand.

“A letter just arrived for you, from the Lord!”

Grateful for the excuse to step away from Akira’s magnetic field, Goro intercepts her and quickly opens the letter, scanning the brief message.

“He says the Head Healer will be back tomorrow morning,” he tells Akira.

“Perfect,” Akira replies, sheathing his second dagger. “We’ll have time to meet with her before the Banquet.”

Ah, yes, the Banquet. Goro did agree to attend that, didn’t he? He swallows. “Right.” Stiffly, he hands the letter back to the Stewardess. “Well, I think our break has lasted long enough. We should keep researching until dinner.”

Akira nods and gestures for Goro to lead the way back to the house. His eyes burn the back of Goro’s neck on the way in and Goro is thankful for the high collar of his tunic. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the last of my finished chapters, so updates might be slower now, but i'm chugging along at a pretty good pace. this fic is a lot of fun!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After an illuminating meeting, Goro and Akira take the night off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a few things: 
> 
> this chapter will make it pretty clear that I love Takemi and Hifumi lol. I love all the confidants but those two are the only romanceable npcs I was ever really interested in. I have to fight to keep any scene Takemi is in from becoming all about her. she's the best. and hifumi is my girlfriend shhh.
> 
> i combined Hifumi's shogi thing with the chess motif of the anime bc this is shuake and I wanted to bring up chess somehow lol. I hate to be so eurocentric, especially in a fantasy au where I'm clearly not following a single aesthetic, but it just worked better that way. it's not important, it's literally so brief, but it kind of bothered me so I wanted to mention it.
> 
> also if a character you like hasn't shown up yet, i promise they are in the world. I know where everyone is, some of them just aren't...here.
> 
> this is a pretty long chapter so I hope you enjoy!

The Head Healer’s personal clinic is surprisingly small, tucked away in a backstreet of Jongen.

“She handles things over at the main clinic as well, of course,” Akira explains, leading Goro down the winding path to the unobtrusive building, “but she’s always been very hands-on. This was her clinic before she accepted the Head Healer position and she’d never abandon her regulars.”

“I take it that you know her,” Goro observes.

Akira rubs the back of his neck. “We’ve helped each other out a few times.”

“Is there anyone in this town you haven’t had outrageous adventures with?”

“Perhaps a few.”

Goro hides a smile as Akira pulls the door open for him.

Tae Takemi meets them in the front room and Goro has never been more instantly intimidated by someone. Even his first encounter with the King, while terrifying, had not summoned the same immediate feeling of respect.

She looks nothing like the Healers in the Palace; her traditional white Healer’s robe is loosely draped around her, displaying a tight, dark tunic that leaves little to the imagination. Her bluish hair is cut short around her pointed ears and her sharp eyes scan Goro clinically. She shuffles the stack of parchment in her hands and purses her painted lips.

“When the Lord told me I was getting visitors, I have to admit, this isn’t what I expected,” she drawls, arching one eyebrow.

Akira dips his head. “Tae. It’s nice to see you.” He gestures to Goro, who bows a little more formally. “This is Goro Akechi, Archduke Shido’s son.”

“Yes, I’m well aware of who you are, my prince.” Takemi angles her head to Goro, still assessing him with steely eyes. “And I have a pretty good guess about why you’re here.”

“It’s an honor to meet you, Healer Takemi,” Goro says.

Her gaze flicks between him and Akira a few times. “Alright, come on back.” She indicates for them to follow her before swaying out of the receiving area and into the back room, which, Goro realizes upon entering, is where most of her treatment must take place.

Shelves and cabinets line the room, stuffed with tomes and scrolls. Bottles and boxes are filed neatly behind glass doors and the large wooden table dominating one wall is organized and clearly immaculate. Several cots are cordoned off to one side of the room, empty for the moment. The air is saturated with the scent of herbs and the buzz of healing magic.

“You’re lucky.” Healer Takemi deposits her papers on her work table and pulls out a few stools. “I just got back. No one’s come to call yet.”

“We’ll try not to keep you too long,” Goro assures, waiting for her to settle on one of the stools before taking a seat himself. Akira sits beside him.

Healer Takemi crosses her legs, leaning one elbow against the work table. “So tell me, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Goro folds his hands in his lap. “I must request that you keep this information private.” At Takemi’s nod, he continues, “Unfortunately, the Darkening has reached the Summer Court.”

Her expression doesn’t change. “Who?”

“A dancer from a troupe that was hired for the Lantern Banquet. Given the timeline, it’s unlikely she was infected before she arrived at Court.”

She regards him impassively for a beat. “I see.”

“In light of this, the King has—”

“The King has sent you out here to investigate.” She sighs. “Of course, it takes something like that to finally make him take action. I’m not surprised.”

“Tae—” Akira starts but Goro holds a hand up.

“It’s okay, Akira.” Badmouthing the King is not illegal, but anyone should be wary about voicing their true opinions in front of someone as entrenched in the Court as Goro. Fortunately for Takemi, Goro very much agrees with her. “That’s correct,” he tells her. “We’ve been aware of the situation in the Outlands since the beginning, but only now has anyone been mobilized to look into it.”

“Is the King going to do anything?” she asks. “To help?”

Goro laces his fingers together and squeezes. “I’m not told everything, but I highly doubt it. He is only concerned with stopping the spread within the Court. Hopefully, anything I learn will be helpful to everyone.”

The corner of Takemi’s mouth quirks up. “Very frank, little prince.”

“If it will win me any of your favor—I urged my father to take action in the Outlands months ago, but all talk of the Darkening within Court was stifled until recently.”

“Of course it was.” She tilts her head, still scrutinizing him, but Goro thinks he sees a different light in her eyes now. Hopefully a more cooperative light. “And you’ve drawn the short straw, huh? Sent out here to do what the most well-trained Healers in the Kingdom can’t?”

“The King needs to be seen doing something. He needs to keep up appearances.” Goro feels more than sees Akira shift beside him.

Takemi’s focus is drawn by the movement. “And you’re here because you’re nosy.”

It’s not a question and Akira shrugs helplessly. “You know me too well, Tae.”

“I do.” She fixes her gaze on Goro again and squints at him, tapping the tip of her finger against her lips in thought.

Goro allows her to watch him, looking back steadily. As the Archduke’s son, it was risky to reveal so many of his honest thoughts, but if Court has taught him anything, it’s how to deal with adults. And he can sense that Takemi won’t respond to anything other than honestly.

After a moment, Takemi sighs, a hard exhale through her nose, and pushes herself to her feet. “I’m gonna trust that I won’t be abducted by the military for speaking plainly with you, my prince.”

“Of course.”

She crosses to a cabinet and pulls a key out of her robes, fitting it into a small metal lock. The door creaks open and she carefully eases a wide, latched box off the shelf. “This is my personal research, but don’t get your hopes up, because it’s—well, you’ll see.”

Goro furrows his brows, watching as she places the box on the work table and flips the latch, swinging the lid open. Inside are a small collection of vials, a few smaller boxes, and a stack of handwritten notes.

Takemi selects one of the vials and holds it up, allowing the light to shine on the glass. The liquid inside is a deep red. Goro would hazard a guess that it’s blood. She sets it aside and picks up one of the little boxes.

“Tissue and hair samples.” She gives the box a gentle shake. “Preserved with magic.” Settling the box next to the vial, she lifts the sheaf of paper and spreads the pages across the work table. “And all of my personal notes and observations since the first patient was afflicted. But don’t bother trying to decipher my handwriting. There’s nothing in these notes worth the effort.”

Goro looks up at her. “What do you mean?”

Takemi sinks back onto her stool and drums her fingers against the top of the table. “I mean there’s nothing.”

“Well, I didn’t think you’d discovered a cure or anything, but—”

“It’s more than that. Or less, in a way.” She purses her lips. “Let me back up.” One finger traces over a piece of paper, trailing across a line of text. “The Darkening, as mysterious as it is, is simple,” she says, crossing her legs again. “The markings show up, start spreading, you get weak, and if you’re lucky you’ve got a few months to get your affairs in order. Usually less. Inevitably. It doesn’t deviate. It doesn’t manifest different symptoms in different Fae. The length of time before you die can vary, but the pattern is the same.”

Shiho’s strange symptom presentation jumps to Goro’s mind, but he holds his tongue for the moment, listening intently.

“We know _how_ it kills you,” Takemi continues. “It mimics the natural fading of magic energy at an accelerated rate. So the thing is, we actually know a lot about the Darkening. We know all the symptoms, the timeline, and the eventual cause of death. That’s actually more than we know about some magical diseases. We don’t know how it spreads, but we shouldn’t _have _to know that to treat it.” She glares at her notes. “Despite that, we _can’t_ treat it. We can’t even begin to.”

“It’s incurable,” Goro murmurs.

“It’s not _just _incurable, it’s—” Takemi breaks off on a frustrated huff and sits forward, fixing Goro with her hooded gaze. “I assume you know basic science, your highness?”

“I...I do—”

“So you know diseases and infections leave traces in the body?”

“Yes—”

“Well, the Darkening—” she taps the sample on the table, “—leaves nothing.”

Goro blinks. “What?”

“I’ve tested every patient I could get a viable sample from. I’ve run every test available, even my own experimental ones.” She closes her hand around the vial of blood, thumb worrying over the lid. “And there’s nothing there. Infected samples are indistinguishable from healthy samples. Every single time. Even skin taken directly from the marks is only discolored. There’s nothing foreign present in the body of a Fae afflicted by the Darkening.”

Before he’s even aware of it, Goro’s hands are pulling his notebook and pen from his pockets. “But what...what does that mean?” he asks haltingly, scribbling without looking down.

Takemi levels him with an unreadable stare. “No one knows. And no one talks about it. Because by all rights, the Darkening should not exist. This shouldn’t be happening. And yet, it is. And it’s getting worse.”

A shiver crawls down Goro’s spine.

“The Darkening doesn’t act like a disease,” Takemi goes on, voice dropping until it’s little more than a whisper. “But it reminds me of something else.”

“Of what?”

Her eyes harden. “A curse.”

Beside him, Akira breathes in sharply and Goro glances at him. Their eyes meet for an instant before Akira’s gaze skitters away.

“What do you mean?” Goro asks hoarsely, turning back to Takemi. “Curses can’t spread to other people like this.”

She runs her fingers over the smooth glass of the blood vial. “I’m only telling you what I’ve observed. If you look at each victim individually, the Darkening could be mistaken for a vicious, illegal curse. Difficult to pull off, but possible with enough magic and spite. It’s only when you assume it’s spreading like a disease that it stops looking like a curse.”

Goro shifts uneasily. Curses, like Bonding, are a type of magic innate to all Fae. Any Fae can enact a curse, although the strength and type will depend on the amount of magic being called on, and it requires very specific materials and a good deal of discipline. “So, you’re suggesting,” he says cautiously, “that the Darkening is a curse on a kingdom-wide scale.”

“Well, I’m certainly not suggesting every victim is targeted individually.”

“But you think it’s a curse.”

“I don’t know what I think, your highness,” Takemi grinds out, frustrated. “You asked for my observations and here they are.”

Goro looks down at his notes, brow furrowed. Thinking about the Darkening as a curse does make a lot more sense in multiple ways, but he can’t even begin to imagine the magical power required to pull off something so massive and so _general_. There are legends of curses placed on households, on towns, by jealous or insane Fae, but never anything this widespread or with such a body count. And there’s the matter of the caster. Curses cannot outlast the Fae that cast them; the castor’s magical core acts as an anchor for the harmful magic of the curse. The Darkening has been around for at least two-thousand years, and as Goro knows, there are no Fae older than that in the Seelie Kingdom.

Except for one.

The thought nearly jolts him out of his seat. He grips his pen so tightly in his fist he fears the glass may crack. “Thank you, Healer Takemi,” he manages, looking up. “You’ve been very helpful.”

Her mouth twists to the side, eyes narrow. “Something wrong?”

“No,” Goro assures her, rising fluidly. Akira follows suit. “And, rest assured, I will keep all of this to myself.”

She stands, still regarding him suspiciously, and offers a brief bow in farewell. “Then go on. I don’t want the Archduke’s son hanging around and scaring my patients. And you—” she points at Akira, “Watch yourself.”

“I always do,” Akira replies casually.

“You don’t.” She waves and starts repacking the materials on the table. “See you around.”

Goro keeps his hands folded tightly behind his back as they depart the clinic, eyes on the ground. Akira keeps pace with him silently.

It’s not yet noon and the streets are bustling, but Goro is so distracted that it takes him a few minutes to realize they’re walking through preparations for the Lantern Banquet. All around them, Fae are hanging decorations and setting up lanterns outside their shops and homes. They pass Jongen’s central plaza and Goro pauses, caught up in watching the coordinated chaos.

Nearby, a small group of young Fae are arguing over a handful of floating lanterns, complaining that they’re not turning the right colors. A large Fae woman sets aside the post she’s carrying and starts lecturing them.

Across the plaza, several Fae are working together to position a long table, and yet another group is trying to assemble what will probably be a fountain once all the pieces are in the right place.

It’s loud and bright and Goro wishes desperately it was enough to pull the troubling thoughts out of his head.

A nudge against his shoulder commands his attention and he turns to see Akira staring at him intently. “Are you okay?”

Goro breathes in. “Yes,” he smiles. “Just mulling over what Healer Takemi told us.”

“You think she might be right?” 

Goro weighs his words, considering Akira. “I think...she raises an interesting point.”

Akira stuffs his hands in his pockets and leans in closer, voice dropping, “Any insights from the Detective Prince?”

Smile frozen in place, Goro gazes over Akira’s shoulder, at a small gaggle of Fae women organizing a food stall. “Not at the moment.”

Swaying back into his own space, Akira glances around. “We can talk about it later.”

Goro hums noncommittally. “Anyway, when did you tell Futaba we would meet her tonight?”

They continue walking as Akira outlines the plans he made for that evening and Goro pretends not to notice the searching looks that Akira keeps sending him.

* * *

As a general rule, the Seelie tend to prefer lighter colors. It’s primarily a result of the environment; most of the flora and fauna of the Seelie Kingdom are bright in coloration, iridescent or pastel in turn, so naturally-produced dyes and paints are as well. Magically-produced materials can be any color, but people just like looking colorful and more often than not eschew darker and desaturated shades.

This holds doubly true for Lantern Banquets. The True Night makes most Fae uneasy, even if the danger is virtually nonexistent, so Banquet outfits are always bright and colorful to ward off the darkness of the sunless sky.

Goro finds himself ruminating on all of this as he covertly scans Akira’s choice of clothing for the evening. Instead of complying with tradition, Akira has swapped his usual page uniform for a layered dark gray and black ensemble that highlights his lean figure. A deep scarlet sash ties the whole look together and brings out the subtle red designs stitched into the hem of his outer robe. He looks unfairly amazing.

Akira catches him staring as he guides Goro down the road between the estate and the town. “Something wrong, my prince?” he smirks knowingly.

Goro purses his lips. “I’m simply surprised to see how you dress when left to your own devices.”

Akira chuckles, tugging at his sleeves. “Well, I must admit it’s not easy to find fabric dark enough to suit my tastes, but I look very out-of-place in light colors.”

“Do you?” Akira’s uniform is in neutral green and silver tones, like most pages’, designed to blend in against the light stone and airy passages of the Palace, but Goro finds himself struggling to envision Akira in anything lighter.

“Trust me.”

“You’ll stick out just as much in that.”

“Perhaps, but at least I’ll look good.” Akira smirks again.

Goro doesn’t dignify him with a response, even if the burning on the back of his neck agrees.

“You look very nice as well, my prince.”

Goro glances down at his outfit, the same white and crimson combination he wore to meet with the King. “I rarely dress up,” he admits, adjusting his white leather gloves. “And, like you, I am ill-suited for most vibrant colors.” His normal outfits tend toward shades of beige and white, bright enough not to stand out, but lacking decoration. Simple and professional. Nonthreatening. “But I suspect I would look very odd in robes like yours.”

“I’d be happy to lend them to you, should you wish to find out for sure.”

The worst part is that Akira seems completely serious, eyebrows raised innocently as he walks beside Goro in the waning evening light. Goro hums, playing along. “We do appear to be similar sizes. I may take you up on that.”

Akira laughs loudly. “My wardrobe and I are at your disposal, my prince,” he says with a wink.

Goro’s eyes dart away.

“But I do like your outfit tonight,” Akira continues, heedless of Goro’s flaming cheeks. Hopefully it is dim enough that he can’t see them. “We kind of match.” He indicates the red details on his ensemble and Goro looks down at his own red accents.

“I suppose we do.”

“You’re white and I’m black. How fitting.”

Goro grimaces. “Don’t be so dramatic.”

Chuckling, Akira knocks his shoulder against Goro’s and Goro can’t help but nudge back.

The party is in full-swing by the time they arrive, and already Goro can tell how markedly different Jongen’s Lantern Banquets are from the ones in the Summer Court. The Court values ostentation and spectacle. Everything from the food to the entertainment to the decorations must be perfect, more impressive than last time, a show of wealth by whatever Noble is hosting the event. Goro finds such posturing tiring in its endlessness. Every month, it gets worse and worse.

The event before him now, while similarly glowing and colorful, is much less organized. Sprawled across several connected plazas, it’s large enough to host multiple bands, but the musicians are townsfolk, smiling and laughing along with the dancing Fae around them, less focused on the melody and more interested in maintaining the beat. 

Stations are positioned on the edges, laden with food and drink provided by the surrounding shops. As Goro watches, a man backs out of a building, balancing a huge tray, and calls to a group nearby, who instantly descend, laughing, snagging food from the tray before the man even sets it down.

Children dash between dancing legs, crawling under tables and splashing in fountains, completely unsupervised, while adults mingle and drink and sway along to the music. There are no professional dancers or complex light shows. It’s just a huge, town-wide party.

“Of course, it can’t compare to the Banquets back at Court,” Akira says, pulling Goro through the fringes of the crowd to reach the spot where they agreed to meet Futaba. “But it’s a pretty good time.”

“It’s charming,” Goro responds, voice raised above the din. “The Banquets back home are merely excuses to show off and get drunk.”

Akira snickers. “I only saw one and I still know you’re right.”

Futaba, in a verdant green tunic, jumps on Akira as soon as he appears, chattering away happily.

“Good evening, your highness,” she offers Goro, hanging off Akira’s shoulders.

“I’m not actually royalty, you know,” Goro smiles. “You can call me Goro, if you’d like.”

She scrunches up her nose. “We’ll see. Does Akira not have name privileges? He only calls you _my prince_.”

“It just suits him so perfectly,” Akira tells her, glancing playfully at Goro. “Don’t you think, Futaba?”

Goro flushes as Futaba groans. 

“I think you’re gross.” She detaches and starts tugging Akira through the crowd. “Come on—Shinya didn’t believe me when I told him you were back.”

Goro trails Akira and Futaba around the banquet, quietly observing. 

Shinya turns out to be a young Fae boy with dark, choppy hair. He’s playing some sort of shooting game at a booth when Akira approaches, which he instantly challenges Akira to after demanding to know what he was doing there. Akira loses handily before inviting Goro to join in, holding out the magically-modified slingshot with a raised eyebrow.

Goro intends to refuse, but then Futaba is pushing him from behind, crowding them both into the booth and crowing about how she’s going to kick all of their asses.

Games are not common at Palace festivities, and it takes Goro a few tries to figure it out, but between Futaba’s excited shouting, Shinya’s vehement cursing, and Akira’s reserved laughter, he finds that he doesn’t mind losing.

Afterward, Futaba drags them to a stall manned by Sojiro, who lectures her and Akira good-naturedly while distributing bowls of what Goro is told is Leblanc’s signature dish. It appears to be rice mixed with some sort of savory meat sauce, and when Goro takes a bite, he once again has to cover his mouth in surprised glee.

“Good, right?” Akira asks around his own spoon.

“Can you make this too?”

Akira smiles. “Maybe.”

“I wouldn’t risk it,” Futaba pipes up, shoveling her own food into her mouth. “Coffee’s one thing, but food—”

“I’m a good cook!” Akira insists.

Futaba sucks a breath in through her teeth.

“Sojiro!” Akira entreats.

Sojiro just shakes his head. “No comment.”

Akira scowls.

Goro hides his smile in his bowl.

The sky is completely dark now, and the floating lanterns aren’t as dense in Jongen, giving Goro ample glimpses of the smooth indigo stretching above them. The stars seem even brighter as well.

After departing Sojiro’s stall, Futaba spies something through the crowd and points it out to Akira, standing on her toes to whisper in his ear. Akira nods and heads in that direction, gesturing for Goro to follow.

The something turns out to be a girl who’s currently beating another Fae at chess. She looks up as Akira greets her and her eyes go wide.

“Akira!” She exclaims. “I—hold on—” she turns back to the board and ends the match with a decisive movement, capturing the opposing King. The other Fae sits back in shock and the girl shoots to her feet. “You—I heard rumors that you were back in town, but I—” she smiles up at Akira, a blush obvious on her cheeks.

She’s pretty, in a severe kind of way. Pale and slender with sharply-cut black hair, dressed in blue and white robes, and her austere appearance completely belies her girlish delight at seeing Akira.

Goro watches blankly as Akira pulls her in for a hug.

“I couldn’t get away to see you before now,” Akira says, stepping back. “And I won’t be in town long.”

“Of course,” the girl says quickly. “You’re very busy now, I assume.”

“Speaking of busy—” Akira indicates Goro, who steps forward and bows politely. “This is Goro Akechi, the Archdukes’s son. I guess you could say he’s my boss for now.”

“Oh—” the girl looks a bit flustered, returning the bow. “I’m Hifumi Togo. It’s nice to meet you, your highness.”

“And you as well,” Goro replies.

“Hifumi is the best chess player in the Kingdom,” Akira explains.

“Is that so?”

“No,” Hifumi mumbles, her blush darkening. “He’s exaggerating.” 

“I’m not,” Akira insists. “She even taught me how to play.”

“You really must be good,” Goro marvels. “I can’t imagine that was an easy feat.”

“Well—” Hifumi glances between them. “It really wasn’t.”

Goro snorts and Akira rubs his neck sheepishly.

“Not that he’s bad!” Hifumi rushes to clarify. “He’d just...never played before, and learning from scratch is..._difficult_, so really, he should be proud.”

“Is he any good?” Goro asks.

Hifumi grimaces.

“Thanks, teach,” Akira says.

“He’s decent,” she concedes.

“Perhaps we can have a match sometime, Akira,” Goro suggests. “I play as well.”

Akira’s eyes glitter in the lantern light. “Please go easier on me than Hifumi.”

“You won’t learn if you don’t lose,” Hifumi insists sternly.

“At what point does it stop being constructive and start being gratuitous?”

“When I say so.”

They giggle together and Goro smothers the ugly heat rising in his chest.

Someone passes by with a tray and Akira quickly snags three cups as they go by. Goro accepts the one handed to him, finding it to be some sort of sparkling fruit wine.

“To the suns,” Akira toasts.

Goro taps his cup against Akira’s and Hifumi’s and repeats the sentiment, his smile only partially faked. The wine is cloying on his tongue. 

After promising to meet up later, Hifumi has to go find her mother, and Akira takes Goro’s arm to steer him back through the crowd. 

He does that a lot, Goro realizes, staring at Akira’s hand hooked around his elbow. Apparently when Goro lost his mind and accidentally gave Akira tacit permission to touch him back at the Palace, Akira took him at his word, because Goro has never been pulled around as much as he has the past few days. The orphanage was...what it was, and Shido occasionally feels the need to assert his authority with a physical shove or yank, so Goro probably shouldn’t be as complacent with Akira’s touch as he is, but it never occurred to him to ask Akira to stop.

It doesn’t occur to him now, as he follows Akira dutifully around stalls and tables and party-goers.

“So that was the Hifumi everyone’s been talking about?” Goro asks.

Akira glances back at him and slows his steps to put them side-by-side without letting go of Goro’s arm. “Yes.”

“She’s pretty. Smart too. And very enamored with you.”

Akira winces. “She’s a good friend.”

“Is that really all?” Hifumi’s regard for him couldn’t have possibly escaped Akira’s notice. What would drive Akira to refuse such a beautiful, intelligent Fae girl his own age?

“Yes, I—” Akira breaks off, looking around. After a second, he pulls Goro off to the side, into a slightly sheltered space between two stalls, where they can speak without shouting. “Hifumi and I are just friends.”

“Why?”

“Nosy,” Akira scolds.

“They call me the Detective Prince for a reason.” Goro frowns. “You two seem to get along very well, and she’s obviously open to the idea. I can’t think of anyone who would refuse in such a position.”

“Then think harder.”

Goro blinks. “I...apologize. That was rather invasive of me. It’s your business, of course—”

“No, shit—” Akira runs a hand through his hair, blowing a breath out through his nose, and Goro observes the agitated body language with interest. “When I lived here, I was focused on other things,” Akira says lowly. “I didn’t have the energy for a relationship like that. And I wasn’t...interested.” His eyes flick up to meet Goro’s and Goro is suddenly very aware of how closely they’re standing, crowded together in the small, sheltered space.

They’ve been even closer, but for some reason the inches between them crackle and simmer, and Goro swallows. “What about now?”

“Well, now—” Akira raises a hand, hovering it over Goro’s arm without actually touching, and Goro can feel the ghostly pressure through his sleeve. “I live somewhere else, don’t I?”

Heart fluttering, Goro holds his gaze. “And your interest?”

The shadows in this small alcove angle across Akira’s features as he leans in ever-so-slightly, but the lantern light stays caught in his eyes. The scent of sweet wine drifts faintly over Goro. “It followed me, of course.”

Goro inhales haltingly.

“Akira!” 

The shout is all the warning they get before Futaba’s orange head is peeping around the stall wall, looking irritated.

“There you are!”

Akira steps back casually, his raised hand smoothly moving to scratch the back of his neck. “Something wrong?”

“I thought you’d spend longer with Hifumi.” Futaba scans them both skeptically. “Come on—the dancing’s really picking up and you promised me!”

“Right.” He glances back at Goro. “Come on, my prince. I promise I’ll save a few for you.”

Goro can’t respond; his pounding heart is too high in his throat.

In exchange for his suffering, Goro is treated to a front-row seat of Akira’s stilted dancing. Futaba isn’t very good either, and they both quickly abandon the traditional steps in favor of seeing who can make a bigger fool of themselves. Goro taps his foot to the beat and smiles, watching Akira spin Futaba around while she laughs uproariously. 

He spies a few familiar faces through the crowd. Ohya waves at him, grinning, as she twirls past with a Fae woman Goro assumes to be her bondmate. Hifumi is standing to the side, watching the display with a placid smile. Even Healer Takemi passes through the throng, clearly on her way elsewhere but not too busy to refuse the bowl Sojiro hands her as she goes by.

The dances are typical Lantern Banquet fare, upbeat and flowing, and they don’t last long. After a few songs, the crowd is really getting into it, clapping and stomping along, cheering from all directions. It’s loud and bright and it thrums through Goro in a way he’s wholly unfamiliar with.

Before he can decide if he likes it or not, Akira is standing in front of him, breathless, beaming, and offering his hand.

Without thinking, Goro takes it.

The dance Akira leads him into is much less frenetic but still quick and light. Goro is classically trained in all court behaviors, including dancing, so even though Jongen’s traditions are different from the Summer Court’s, Goro picks up the steps easily.

“It’s strange that you’re not better at this,” he says candidly as he rescues Akira from a bad turn. “Your Grace Art should be helping you. You move very well when you fight.”

Akira shrugs. “I’ve had occasion to practice fighting. Dancing, not so much. My Grace is better served in other things.”

“I see. Well—” Goro reaches down and adjusts Akira’s hand on his waist. “If you’re going to insist on leading, at least hold me properly.”

Instantly, Akira’s grip tightens, pressing Goro firmly against his body. Goro gives a surprised squeak and narrows his eyes at Akira’s sly smile. 

“How’s this, your highness?”

“Still terrible.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll try to make it worth it for you.” And then the world tilts as Akira swings Goro into an extremely superfluous dip, laughing loudly.

Goro clutches at Akira’s shoulders. “You’re going to drop me!”

“I would never.” Akira’s steady hands ease Goro back to his feet before guiding him to resume the proper steps. “See? You can trust me, my prince.”

Goro frowns, but he can’t hide the color he feels warming his cheeks.

The music calms slightly, shifting into something slow and swaying. All around them, dancing couples relax into each other. Through the crowd, Goro catches sight of Ohya leaning against her partner, both women holding each other tightly.

Looking back, he finds Akira staring at him, heat pooling behind his eyes. He moves their joined hands to place Goro’s on his shoulder and settles his on Goro’s waist. Goro swallows and slides his hands over Akira’s shoulders, looping his arms around Akira’s neck, pressing even closer than before. Akira’s hands splay out across the small of Goro’s back, heavy and warm in that not-warm way Goro has come to associate with Akira.

This close, as they fall into a steady, simple turning step, the space between them is filled with the scent of coffee and pine, sweetened by the fruit wine from earlier, and Goro actually shakes his head a little, wondering if the wine is starting to affect him. He wouldn’t feel this warm or floaty if he wasn’t tipsy, right?

But his mind is crystal clear as Akira leans in further, cataloguing the whisper of skin on skin as Akira brushes their cheeks together.

“Despite the circumstances,” Akira mutters into Goro’s ear, sending a shiver up Goro’s spine, “I am grateful to be here with you, my prince. Thank you for letting me stay.”

Goro swallows. “As...as if I can control what you do,” he forces out.

Akira breathes out, ruffling some of the hair escaping from Goro’s ponytail. “What must I do to convince you that I am your devoted servant?”

Staring fixedly over Akira’s shoulder, it takes Goro a second to summon a response. “Do not make promises you can’t keep.” He’s said it before, on the way back from Leblanc, but this time he can’t keep the pleading out of his voice.

“I would never. How can I prove it to you? Should I kiss your hand now for everyone to see?”

Goro tightens his arms around Akira’s neck, momentarily scared that Akira really will fall to his knees in the middle of the crowd. “Don’t,” he hisses.

Akira chuckles. “Of course, my prince.”

“You enjoy flustering me a little too much.” Goro says reproachfully. Verbal sparring in private is one thing, but intentionally working him up in public is another.

“So I fluster you, your highness?”

“Don’t act stupid.”

“It’s not an act.” Akira pulls back a little, forcing Goro to meet his eyes. “I tend to forget myself around you.”

Goro’s chest throbs and he resists the instinct to hide his face because the only place to hide it would be Akira’s shoulder. “Admittedly, I struggle to maintain my composure around you as well,” he mutters.

Akira blinks, his crooked smile wavering. “You—” he glances away. “You’re quite the hypocrite, my prince.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re quite adept at flustering me as well, you know.”

Goro tilts his head. “Am I?”

Looking back at Goro, Akira hitches his impish smile back up. “Now who’s acting stupid?”

“Still you.”

When Akira laughs and taps their foreheads together, Goro’s breath stutters in his chest. It’s all he can do to smile back.

* * *

Akira is solid against his side as they stumble into the estate, their way unlit by by anything but the stars. The staff is still at the Banquet, like most of the town, and Goro is thankful for the lack of observers when he trips on the way up the stairs.

Akira catches him and giggles in his ear. Goro leans a little more heavily against him, the several glasses of fruit wine he imbibed making his vision swim pleasantly.

“My prince, I think you’re drunk.”

Goro snorts, pinching Akira’s flushed cheek. “You’re one to talk.”

Laughing, Akira tugs him the rest of the way up the stairs. “A little indulgence is alright.”

The Banquet was intoxicating, in more ways than one, and even now Goro can’t help but feel that Akira’s proximity and easy touches are more inebriating than even the strongest wine. So inebriating that he doesn’t question it when Akira admits them both into Goro’s room, his foot catching on the carpet and sending him staggering against Goro with an undignified squawk.

Goro snickers, grabbing Akira’s upper arms. “I’d say you _indulged_ too much.”

“Hardly,” Akira huffs. “You should see Ohya when she gets going. This is nothing.”

Recalling Ohya’s clingy jubilation as they were preparing to leave, Goro snorts. “I can only imagine.”

Akira grins, his teeth glinting in the light of the stars sifting through the windows. The room is dark, dyed in deep blues and dripping with shadows that gather along Akira’s lean frame as he moves back, that catch in the fabric of his clothes.

Goro, frozen in the doorway, watches him traipse backward, eyes shining, until his legs hit the bed and he deliberately topples onto the mattress with a pillowy thud.

“And what do you think you’re doing?” Goro asks, voice hushed.

“Sleeping,” Akira tells the bed’s gossamer canopy.

“I believe you have your own room.”

“Yours is nicer.” Akira toes his shoes off, clearly not intending to leave.

Goro just shakes his head. The wine is making it difficult for him to summon a good reason to kick Akira out. He clicks the door shut and heads for the vanity, tugging at his waist sash, but he finds his attention waylaid by the night sky stretching outside his window.

He drifts over to the glass, eyes fixed on the sea of tiny lights blanketing the sky. They flow all the way over the horizon, fading into the glow of Jongen, still celebrating and just visible in the distance. It’s not the stunning, uninterrupted view of the Celestial Tower, but Goro finds himself similarly humbled and entranced. It’s probably just the wine, but Goro wonders if he’s ever really seen the True Night until now.

“You really like the stars.”

Akira’s voice startles him from his gazing and he turns to face the bed, finding Akira propped on one elbow and staring at him. “I do.”

“Sure you’re not secretly a Seer?”

“Of course not.” Goro rolls his eyes. “I merely find them interesting. And I can only see them once a month.”

“A Seelie who loves the night,” Akira hums, blinking slowly. “You’re a rare breed, my prince.”

“Surely not that rare.” Goro turns back to the window, basking in the cool glow of starlight. “All Seelie love pretty things.”

“Seelie drown the stars in lanterns. They create ceilings of magical light to block the mere sight of the sunless sky. Most would not give the stars a second glance.”

“We used to. When the Seers still lived.” When Sight existed, the True Night, while fearful and mysterious, was regarded as important, vital to the health of the Kingdom, for it gave Seers the guidance to interpret their visions. The stars inspired awe and gratitude. Now, as Akira says, the Seelie are content to pretend the skies never darken at all.

Sheets rustle noisily, like Akira is shifting around, followed by muffled footsteps, and before Goro can tear his eyes away again, there are hands on his hips from behind. He goes very still, the sensation of Akira’s breath on the back of his neck setting him alight.

“You really are unlike anyone I’ve ever met, my prince,” Akira breathes into the shell of his ear.

The instinct to lean back into Akira is almost too strong to resist. Goro bites his lip, his whole body pulsing in time with the throbbing of his heart. “And you,” he whispers, “are the strangest Fae in the entire Kingdom.”

Akira huffs out a subdued laugh. “How could you possibly know that?”

Goro stares fixedly at the stars. “I know.”

A weight lands on Goro’s shoulder, inky black curls tickling his cheek as Akira drops his head to rest in the crook of Goro’s neck. “What if—” he starts softly, words almost lost in the fabric of Goro’s robe, “—you could see the stars whenever you wanted?”

Goro tilts his head to look at Akira as best he can. “What do you mean?”

“If you could go somewhere else, outside the Kingdom, where you could see the stars whenever you wanted, and you’d never have to go to another boring Lantern Banquet or suck up to another stuffy Noble—would you go?”

“Go? Outside the Kingdom? That’s….” Goro trails off, taking in Akira’s words. It’s impossible. There’s nothing _outside_ the Kingdom, except the sealed Unseelie lands. There’d be nowhere to go. But, hypothetically, if Goro could leave, could escape the Court, his father, the King…his own plans…. The notion gapes in front of him, a life devoid of careful machinations, empty of the plotting and waiting and lying— it gapes and he teeters on the edge.

His hands find Akira’s instinctively, curling gloved fingers around Akira’s steady grip to ground himself before he pitches into the void.

“I...I don’t—” he swallows, throat dry. “It’s pointless to think about,” he murmurs. “My life...is in the Court.”

“What if it didn’t have to be?” Akira rasps.

“There’s no use in that kind of question,” Goro spits. “I am the Archduke’s son, and I have worked too hard to—” he breaks off, gritting his teeth. The wine is making his tongue loose. “Sorry.” He shakes his head. “I didn’t mean to speak so harshly.” He starts to let go of Akira’s hands, only to find himself spun around, Akira’s avid gaze instantly pinning him in place.

“Speak as harshly as you want, my prince.” Akira takes both his hands and leads him backwards. He doesn’t pull, he simply steps back and Goro follows as though drawn by a magnet. “I merely asked because I wish I could give you the stars every night. I wanted you to indulge in my fantasy with me.”

Ears burning, Goro glances away. “Every night,” he echoes incredulously. “Anyone would get sick of them after seeing them so often.” But he’s smiling.

“Then I’d give you as many suns as you want, until you crave the stars again,” Akira insists. His legs hit the bed and he falls, pulling Goro down beside him. 

Goro doesn’t resist, flopping onto the covers to join Akira. “That’s impossible,” he teases, the hot frustration of a moment ago faded to a distant simmer. “Even for you and your strange ways.”

“You have no idea what I’m capable of yet,” Akira rolls onto his side to face Goro, grin firmly in place.

“Yet? Do you plan to enlighten me at some point?”

“Certainly. I’m sure you’ll be surprised.”

Goro laughs, kicking his shoes off and crawling up the mattress to lie properly. Now that he’s horizontal, the warm languidness is washing over him again, and sleep sounds very tempting. “I don’t doubt it. You’ve already proven to be full of surprises.” He relaxes against a plush cushion, stretching his arms over his head and watching Akira slide up to join him. “I can’t imagine what else you must be hiding from me, Akira.”

This close, the starlight does little to illuminate Akira’s features, catching the sharp edge of a cheekbone here, the jut of his jaw there, the glitter of his eyes like twin jewels as he plants one hand on either side of Goro and looms over him. “You’ll know soon, my prince,” he says softly. “I promise.”

Goro blinks up at him. The only word he can summon falls from his lips on a hesitant exhale: “Akira….”

Akira sucks in a breath, drawing the tension taught between them. It quivers, suspended, and Goro trembles with it, searching Akira’s face.

Then Akira breathes out slowly, pulling away and taking that pressure, that gravity with him. “You were right,” he sighs, easing himself onto his side, facing Goro. “I’ve had too much wine.”

Goro rolls to face him as well. His heart is stuttering in his chest, but his eyes are dropping. “You should get some sleep,” he mutters.

“I should.” But instead of closing his eyes, Akira reaches for Goro’s hand, cradling it gently as he curls up enough to press his forehead to the back of Goro’s glove.

Goro’s fingers twitch. “You should stop doing that.”

“If you hate it, I’ll never do it again.”

“I didn’t say that.”

Akira smiles drowsily, settling their joined hands on the pillows between them. He doesn’t let go.

Before Goro can think too hard about that, the warm, fuzzy weight in his chest drags his eyes closed against the sight of Akira’s relaxed, starlit face. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this fic isn't beta read so if you see anything, a contradiction, or a mistake, or even a typo and feel like letting me know, please do! I do my best but I can't catch everything, and the bigger the story gets, to more I struggle to keep track of everything.
> 
> and the next chapter will be posted as soon as i write it. I'm a notoriously slow writer and I have another current wip that needs my attention, but this fic has an ending and I hope you'll stick around however long it takes to get there. I guess that's what every author hopes for lol.
> 
> let me know what you think and if you've figured out what's going on ;)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something must be done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! it's been a little while lol. i've got several other projects in the works but i'm still chugging along with this fic, so don't worry. this chapter is a little shorter than the others bc i realized that if i ended it where i planned it, it would be super hella long and take even more time to publish. plus the next event works better in its own chapter ;)
> 
> i realize now i've been spelling Yongen incorrectly and i will correct that from now on. this whole fic will get an edit once it's complete and i'll fix it in the other chapters at that time. 
> 
> i re-read all your lovely comments all the time to inspire myself and every kudos and bookmark truly means the world to me :,) you guys are amazing. thank you so much for hanging in there with me.

Goro jerks awake to a sharp rapping sound. The fog in his head swirls unpleasantly as he fights against the weight keeping him pinned to the bed.

The weight groans.

A wave of blind panic crashes into him as Goro shoves himself up, clasping his hands together and slumping in relief when he’s greeted by the familiar slide of leather rather than bare skin. His memories of the previous night are hazy, but at least he hadn’t forgotten himself completely and removed his gloves.

Beside him, Akira makes a disgruntled sound at being dislodged so abruptly, stirring sluggishly in the bright sunlight streaming in through the window. “What time is it?” he slurs.

Goro stares down at him. His unruly hair is snarled even wilder than usual, haloed on the pillow and contrasting starkly with his pale skin. Clothes rumpled from sleep, eyes scrunched tight against the suns, he glows like a beacon in the morning light. “It’s morning,” Goro chokes out.

Akira blinks his eyes open, catching Goro with a bemused gaze. “Ah—” he pushes himself up, looking sheepish. “I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable last night, my prince.”

“No,” Goro hurries to assure him. “We were both tipsy, but rest assured—” he brushes a loose lock of hair behind his ear; his ponytail is a lost cause by now, “—I would have been quite capable of letting you know had you done something that...I didn’t like.”

Akira’s lips part with a soft inhale and he leans forward slightly, bringing his characteristic pressure with him. “My prince, do you—”

Another set of knocks cuts him off, more insistent this time, and they both startle. Akira coughs awkwardly into his fist while Goro scrambles out of bed, heart hammering.

“You highness?” a tentative voice calls through the door. “There’s a letter for you from the Palace.”

Goro runs across the room and yanks the door open just enough to greet the servant, carefully keeping Akira hidden from view. “Yes, thank you. Sorry for the wait,” he says briskly, accepting the letter and trying to keep from fidgeting as the servant obviously takes in his disordered appearance.

“Breakfast will be ready soon,” the servant mumbles before bowing quickly and hurrying off.

Goro shuts the door with a sigh, leaning back against it as he breaks the seal on the letter. “I hope nobody saw us come in here together last night,” he mutters.

Akira chuckles dryly, stretching his arms over his head and making no moves to vacate the bed. “Worried that people will think you’re taking up with a page?”

“Such a rumor would apparently make me many enemies at Court,” Goro tosses back, unfolding the thick parchment.

“Oh?”

“Surely you must know how desired you are there?”

“Again, I can only assume you’re jealous, my prince.”

“You wish, perhaps.” Goro smiles at the easy teasing and scans the letter, noting quickly that’s it’s from Ann. The hand is a little messy, as though written in a hurry. Brow furrowing, Goro reads—

_Goro,_

_I hate to write you in such a state, but I’ve been crying all morning. Shiho has worsened rapidly since you left and the Healers worry she won’t last another week. I was relieved to hear you had help on your quest but now I fear you’ve gone so far for nothing. Several others have fallen ill here as well and the Palace is uneasy. The Archduke keeps peace by reminding everyone that you have been sent to investigate. I’m starting to wonder if you have been sent on a fool’s errand merely for that reason. I have faith in you, but if that is so, I would selfishly beg you to come home. I don’t think I can bear to watch Shiho die alone._

_Please please please be safe._

_Ann_

Goro’s breath turns to ice in his lungs. 

The thought of Ann, stuck alone at Court, surrounded by unrest and helpless as her friend suffers, hits him like a slap in the face. The cold in Goro’s chest quickly melts under the pressing heat of shame and he grips the letter so tightly the parchment starts to crumple.

“My prince?” Akira says questioningly, and the rustle of fabric indicates that he’s climbing out of bed. “Has something happened?”

Oh, suns. Ann penned this letter with tears in her eyes, and meanwhile Goro is gallivanting off to Banquets and flirting insolently with Akira, while both of them are supposed to be _working_—

“We—” he chokes, unable to even look at Akira as he approaches. “We need to—” what? Keep investigating? When even Ann knows it’s a sham? The King only wants to shut up the people clamoring for action, he doesn’t actually expect anyone to find anything. That’s why Shido made sure Goro took his place. Right?

Goro sinks harder against the door and puts a hand over his eyes. Akira pauses beside him, hovering and radiating concern.

Ann needs him. He should head back. But, when he imagines abandoning Yongen, something nags at the corner of his mind. His findings are paltry, but some things still stand out: the strange timeline and lack of documentation of the Darkening, the word he couldn’t read, and Healer Takemi’s theory...it’s not much, but it’s not nothing.

And what would Shido do if he returned without permission? After all the efforts he’s apparently made to advertise Goro’s investigation, were his son to return empty-handed after less than a week, his anger would be—

Goro grits his teeth.

Akira steps back as Goro suddenly shoves himself upright. “We’re wasting time,” he says, words clipped. “I apologize for allowing us to get distracted.”

“My prince,” Akira starts hesitantly. “That letter—”

Goro crumples the paper completely in one fist. “Merely a reminder of what we’re here to do.”

“Are you alright?”

Ignoring Akira’s worried gaze, Goro turns away firmly, striding to the wardrobe. “Meet me in the study as soon as possible.”

“My prince—”

“We still have work to do, Akira.” Goro stares at the wood grain of the wardrobe door. “Go.”

Akira lingers for a beat longer, radiating bewildered concern, before the soft click of the door signals his departure. Goro blows out a breath through his nose, lips pressed together, and squeezes the ball of paper in his hand as his shoulders slump.

Everything is heavy again.

* * *

Despite their best efforts, it takes another day and a half to get through their first load of books. Goro works steadily, heedless of the narrow looks Akira keeps sending him, responding to Akira’s questions with simple, vague answers until Akira finally gives up and stops pressing him. The air in the study is strained and chilly, unhelped by the grey clouds beginning to drift across the sky, blotting out the sunlight.

They learn nothing new and another trip to the archives for more records is called for. On their return, Ohya seems to realize something is amiss and Goro catches her exchanging nervous looks with Akira behind his back. He can’t find it in himself to care, though.

When the second load of records proves similarly fruitless, Akira and Goro once again trek back to the archives. The sky overhead is well and truly dark now and the streets are nearly empty, everyone anticipating the storm. Heavy rain is infrequent in the Seelie Kingdom, but weather moves slowly and storms can last for days. Fortunately, even through the suns are hidden, an overcast sky isn’t the same as a True Night. However, Seelie fae still get nervous and prefer to avoid being outside. The oppressive silence lends the town an eeriness that Goro can feel like a physical crawl down his spine.

Ohya greets them cautiously when they arrive, waving them down to the lowest level. Akira trails Goro down the stairs, as quiet as he’s been the past two days, but when they reach the small circular annex, he sets his books loudly on a table and closes the door with a finality that makes Goro’s stomach clench.

“What happened?” Akira asks, his tone unyielding.

Goro doesn’t respond, setting aside his own pile and beginning to browse the shelves like always.

“My prince.”

Tracing his fingers down the crumbling spine of an old ledger, Goro keeps his eyes trained forward. He can’t even look at Akira directly. The sight makes shame drip hot and stifling into his chest. But Akira is done being ignored, his usual languid energy replaced with a spidery restlessness that crackles around the small room.

“Goro.”

“What?” Goro snaps, spine stiff, facing the shelf.

“What happened?” Akira repeats tightly.

Goro slides the ledger off the shelf to give his hands something to grip. “I was merely reminded of the reason we’re out here. We’re not here to play games, we’re here to work.”

“Has something happened at the Palace?”

“If you must know, more people have fallen ill.” Goro stares fixedly at the book in his hands. “But that should hardly come as a surprise.”

A breath of silence, enough time for Goro to hope Akira will just drop the subject, passes.

“What else?”

“There’s nothing else.”

“Then why won’t you even look at me?” A hard edge creeps into Akira’s voice.

Goro clenches his jaw.

“Did I do something wrong?” The edge cracks.

_Yes. You’re a distraction. You’re a reminder. You make me forget myself._ The words pool in Goro’s mouth. He swallows them. “Is this so unusual?” he says instead. “We came here to work. We’re working.”

“Yes, but—”

“I don’t see a problem.”

“I do!” Footsteps pace closer and Goro tenses.

“Then it’s your problem, not mine.”

“Goro.” Pressure at his elbow, a dark silhouette looming in his periphery. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Why?” Goro demands through his teeth.

“Because I’m worried about you—”

“Stop!” Goro whips around, slamming the ledger down on the table to his right with a loud _slap_, and finally faces Akira directly. “Stop worrying! I don’t need it!”

Akira barely reacts to his sudden movement, nothing but a slight twitch of his mouth, lips pressing more firmly together. He instantly catches Goro with his gaze. “I can’t exactly help worrying about you,” he says lowly.

Goro wishes he hadn’t turned, hating how Akira’s eyes flay him open. “You need to get over this little tantrum of yours,” he hisses. 

“Tantrum?” Akira echos, incredulous.

“We don’t have time for—”

“I’m not the one throwing a tantrum here!”

“Oh please,” Goro scoffs. “It’s obvious that my attention made you too cocky, and now—”

“Don’t be conceited, your highness,” Akira growls.

“Then prove me wrong and _do your job_!” Goro can’t stop his voice from rising, shouting right in Akira’s stormy face.

“Stop deflecting!” Akira yells back without missing a beat.

Goro wants to tear his hair out, frustrated heat bubbling inside him. “Stop stalling!”

“Tell me what’s wrong!”

“Akira!” Goro all but shrieks, raising his hands, fingers itching to curl around _something_ and squeeze but instead closing on empty air, leather creaking with the force. “Stop!”

“No!” Fingers like bands of iron wrap around Goro’s wrists and Akira is all he can see, silver eyes and bared teeth filling his vision. “Tell me! Is it your father? Is it the King?”

“It’s me!” The words burst out of him, scraping raggedly up his throat, and then he can’t stop, even as Akira stares at him, wide-eyed. “It’s me! I’m trapped here while my only friend is stuck at Court watching her best friend die and I’m too much of a coward to do anything about it! I can’t defy my father, but—” a hysterical laugh escapes him. “—who are we fooling? There’s _nothing_! We’re searching for _nothing_! We’re here to buy time for the King before everyone realizes they’re being left to _die_!” He tries to pull away from Akira, but Akira’s grip doesn’t falter, his mouth set in a grim line. “And I know that! But I’m still here!”

“Goro—”

“I’m a coward!” Goro continues, struggling harder. “But I fooled myself until I almost forgot the truth, because—because—”

“Goro—”

“Because you’re here with me,” Goro gasps.

Akira’s hands tighten so much Goro can almost feel the bruises being pressed into his skin.

A shrill dinging sound slices through the room and Goro freezes, staring into Akira’s wide, stricken gaze.

After a shivery second, they both turn to look at the bell mounted by the door, currently swaying back and forth frantically, filling the annex with an alarmed ringing.

“We should go upstairs,” Goro grits out.

Akira nods haltingly and releases Goro’s wrists with a mechanical motion, stepping back and taking a deep breath.

Wordlessly, Goro follows him out of the annex and through the winding corridors.

“Ohya?” Akira calls as they emerge into the main room. “Did you need something?”

The Archivist doesn’t answer and when she doesn’t appear, Goro heads for the front, remembering that the bell downstairs is mirrored to the one on the desk, but Ohya isn’t there either. The bell is still swinging slightly in its cradle, chiming softly with each fall. Goro tilts his head at it.

“Ohya?” Akira yells again. “Ohya!”

“Suns, what is it?” an irritated voice snaps and they both turn to see Ohya shouldering her way through a door across the room, laden with rolls of parchment and scowling at them. “Why are you yelling? You know that’s not allowed in here, right?”

“Didn’t you need something?” Goro asks, brows furrowing.

Ohya deposits the scrolls on top of a low bookshelf. “What are you talking about?”

Silently, Goro points to the bell, ice creeping up his spine.

Ohya locks onto the bell, eyes tracking the slowing movement, and goes rigid. “I didn’t ring that.”

As one, Akira and Goro swivel to face the entrance to the underground archives.

“Wait, what—”

Before Ohya can finish, Goro is sprinting down the stairs, Akira on his heels.

“Someone was trying to lure us upstairs,” Goro tosses over his shoulder, rounding a corner sharply.

“But why would they—” Akira cuts off and they both skid to a stop on the rough stone floor in front of the closed annex door.

Goro’s skin prickles with the magical energy hanging in the air, much stronger than the nascent magic of the preservation spells and floating lanterns. “This magic—”

“Someone set a spell charge.” Akira grabs Goro’s arm. “They may be hiding somewhere, we should—”

“But the records—”

“We don’t—”

Akira’s words are drowned out by a thunderous rush of air and a sick cracking sound. Deep, glowing splits splinter down the thick wood of the door and a whispery groan is all the warning they get before the door blows outward and a massive, scalding wave of magic crashes over them.

Instinctively, Goro throws an arm up to shield his face, his own magic unfolding in a barrier around him, and reaches his free hand toward Akira, seizing a handful of his robe at the same time Akira lunges for him.

He hits the ground hard under Akira’s weight, their magics blurring together at the edges as they buffer the unnatural sparkling heat blasting down the corridor. It’s a new sensation—his magic melding with someone else’s, and the strange tingling is almost enough to distract Goro from the explosive spell charge that could have killed them both.

The spell burns hot but quick, the air around them cooling rapidly, and after a second Goro chances raising his head for a look.

“Careful,” Akira rasps in his ear.

“It’s not like I can go very far with you on top of me like this,” Goro retorts.

Instead of releasing him, Akira only presses Goro harder to the floor, pushing himself up over him and glancing around. The corridor is flickering with dancing violet light, and as Goro succeeds in struggling out of Akira’s hold, he catches sight of crystalline flames licking around the annex door frame.

The room beyond is completely consumed by fire.

“We need to seal it,” Goro gasps, letting Akira pull him to his feet. “Before it spreads to the other rooms.” A magic fire like this can’t be extinguished, only contained and allowed to burn out.

Akira nods grimly and holds a hand out, fingers spread. Instantly, a shimmering membrane stretches across the doorway, rippling with each brush of flame, but Goro can sense its strength. He glances at Akira.

“No!” Ohya’s shout draws their attention and they turn to see her near the bend in the corridor, staring in horror at the annex. “How could this—!” she stumbles forward, but Akira intercepts her, herding her back down the hall.

“Come on,” he calls to Goro. “We might not be safe here.”

Back in the main room, Akira sits Ohya down in a chair and turns to Goro. “Can you sense anyone else here?”

Goro raises an eyebrow. “Dull magical senses?”

“My field has a very short range.”

“Hm. Mine isn’t the widest either, but I’ll check.” Closing his eyes, Goro focuses on the edge of his magical radius, pushing it outward, feeling it creep down through the archives. The magic fire still blazing in the annex is like a beacon, lighting up his perception and dwarfing any other magic he can sense on the premises. Frustrated, he pulls his senses back into himself, blinking away the lingering starbursts in his eyes. “I can’t tell. The fire is drowning everything out. I have to go back down and—”

“No.” Akira’s hand on his arm stills any movement Goro might make. “It’s too dangerous.”

“Letting whoever did this go free is even more dangerous.”

“If they managed to get past us twice, you could be walking into a trap.”

“Don’t underestimate me,” Goro snarls, tugging at his arm.

Akira steps in closer, eyes blazing with their own magical fire. “Are you going to fight me, my prince?”

Goro stares at him, inhaling sharply.

“Ichiko—!” A loud clatter at the entrance snaps their attention away from each other, but Akira doesn’t loosen his grip. A fae woman that Goro recognizes as Ohya’s partner from the Banquet is hurrying through the front door, shedding a variety of bags and boxes. She pauses at the sight before her. “What—?”

“Kayo!” Ohya shoots to her feet and runs to her, collapsing in her arms as soon as they’re close enough. “Are you okay?” she babbles, checking the other woman over frantically. 

“Yes, I—why?”

“Someone attacked the annex!”

Kayo pales. “What?”

“I couldn’t help thinking they might target one of us—”

“Are _you_ okay?”

“Yes, but the records—”

“It was a spell charge,” Goro explains, shaking off Akira’s hand. “Set after luring us upstairs. The culprit likely wanted to avoid casualties, so you should be safe. And the fire is contained, but the whole room is lost.”

Kayo covers her mouth with one hand.

“Who would do this?” Ohya asks tearfully. “Those records were irreplaceable!”

“Who indeed,” Akira mutters darkly.

“That’s—” Kayo shakes her head, collecting herself. “We’ll deal with that in a minute—Ohya, I came to tell you—something’s going on at Healer Takemi’s clinic—”

“What?” Akira steps forward, tense.

“There was a huge crowd when I passed by, and everyone was shouting—”

Goro and Akira exchange sharp glances.

“Monitor the fire downstairs—” Goro instructs, already moving, “—but don’t get too close. It should burn out in a few minutes.”

Akira squeezes Ohya’s shoulder as they pass. “I’m so sorry, Ohya.”

“Akira!” she calls after them, her words nearly lost in the creak of the Archives door swinging open. “You better explain everything later!”

Then Goro and Akira are striding through the dreary gray streets of Yongen.

Takemi’s clinic is indeed surrounded by rabblerouse townsfolk, pushing and shouting in a cacophony of incomprehensible noise. Fortunately, they part slightly at the sight of Goro, no doubt familiar with his appearance through word-of-mouth, and he and Akira makes it to the front door unaccosted. 

The inside is similarly chaotic. The receiving area is stuffed with cots occupied by Fae in varying degrees of distress and harried-looking nurses are bustling all over the place. Goro doesn’t pause to examine the patients. He has a pretty good idea what they’re here for. In the main treatment area, more cots are haphazardly arranged in short rows, leaving barely enough room to walk around. Takemi is a pillar in the center of the room, stance firm as she speaks vehemently to a furious man.

“—over capacity, and I won’t be able to do anything the Healers at the Tower can’t,” she insists. “You’re better off taking her there, where there’s more manpower—” she catches sight of Goro and Akira picking their way over and dismisses the man with a wave.

“Tae—” Akira greets breathlessly as she meets them. “What’s going on?”

She gestures jerkily around the room, blowing out a frustrated snort. “Sudden influx of Darkening patients, and I mean _sudden_.” She shakes her head. “Most of them manifested symptoms within the last couple of hours, at most. Word got out that I wasn’t at the Healing Tower so they all came here.” She gestures to a Nurse as they hurry past. “I had to call some help from the Tower just to keep up.”

“Is this the most you’ve ever had at once?” Goro asks.

“Yes. We’ve had waves before, but never this many at the same stage of progression.” Her jaw clenches. “And the progression itself is too fast.”

“What?”

“Everyone here is claiming their fatigue started a few days ago but the marks only appeared today. That’s not in keeping with the usual pattern.”

Goro glances at Akira and finds him looking back, face grim.

Takemi narrows her eyes. “What is it?”

“To be honest, Healer Takemi—” Goro starts, “—the patient I mentioned from the Palace—her symptoms also presented like that. Fatigue, then markings.”

She rubs her temple. “And you didn’t tell me because…?”

“What would you have done with the information if I had?”

“I don’t know!” Takemi throws her hands up. “I could have added it to my pile of useless notes, I suppose!”

“Tae, do you have any idea what might be causing this?” Akira asks evenly. “Perhaps regarding what we discussed _earlier_?”

Goro eyes Takemi searchingly as she crosses her arms and purses her lips. “Regarding _that_, this only makes it more suspicious.” She drops her voice, darting a look at the convalescent Fae surrounding them. “Illnesses don’t act like this.”

_But curses can_, goes unsaid in the meaningful look that bounces between them.

A sudden spike in the noise level outside draws Goro’s attention and Takemi groans. “What _now_?” she hisses, shouldering past Goro and Akira to get out of the treatment room.

They follow her into the receiving area, where a few Nurses are struggling to hold back the Fae trying to force their way into the building.

“What is going on here?” Takemi demands, shouting over the din.

“The Archduke’s son is here, isn’t he?” one man yells. “We saw him outside!”

Goro steps forward, putting himself in front of Takemi. “I’m here.”

“Prince Akechi!” A woman sobs, sagging against the Nurse restraining her. “Please—do something! My son—!”

“It’s an attack!” Someone else yells from deeper within the crowd. “The Unseelie are attacking us!”

Shrieks and renewed struggling ripple out from the words and Goro holds his hands up. “Please!” he shouts. “This is a clinic! Everyone move back and I will hear you out!”

After some cajoling from Takemi and calming words from Goro, the crowd is convinced to back away from the doorway and Goro trails them out, closing the door firmly behind him and pressing his back to it. Akira lingers at his side, watching the crowd warily as they shift and wail.

“It’s highly unlikely that the Unseelie are attacking us,” Goro starts, keeping his voice measured. “This outbreak is—”

“What about the attack on the Archives!” someone cuts in, triggering another wave of gasps and cries.

“The Archives?”

“What happened?”

“There was a fire! I saw them venting the smoke!”

Goro fights the urge to drop his head into his hands. “There was a fire at the Archives, but that is unrelated—”

“How do you know?”

“It has to be the Unseelie! They broke the Barrier and now—!”

“We have to evacuate!”

“Everyone, calm down!” Goro doesn’t have the Art of Voice like Shido, but he knows how to make people pay attention. 

Sure enough, the crowd settles somewhat, turning wide, panic-stricken eyes on Goro.

Goro takes a deep breath and feels Akira’s shoulder brush against his. “It’s not unwise to be concerned, and the truth is that the Darkening can affect anyone regardless of proximity, but there is no use in panicking or fleeing.”

“Who attacked the Archives?” someone asks shrilly.

“I am investigating that matter, as well as this outbreak.”

“The Unseelie spread the Darkening—for so many people to get sick at once, there must be one among us!” a woman insists and she’s met with murmurs of agreement.

“The Barrier is intact,” Goro counters. “No one can slip through.”

“But it’s been thousands of years!” the same woman cries. 

A man beside her nudges her roughly. “Are you doubting the King’s magic?”

Her eyes grow wide and fearful. “N-no, I—!”

“She’s right!” someone shouts. “How are we to know if the Barrier even still stands!”

“We’d be overrun if it didn’t!”

“Doesn’t this seem like the beginning of an invasion?”

Several fae cry out and the panicked rustling intensifies.

“Enough.” Goro steps forward, drawing all eyes to him again. In a flash, he scans the crowd, cataloguing their state. The Fae gathered outside the clinic are heartbeats away from hysterical, pale and shaking and clinging to each other. The ones that aren’t are radiating directionless anger. And with so many people suddenly struck by an incurable disease, Goro can’t blame them. Coupled with the news of the fire in the Archives, an act inseparable from reports of the Unseelie’s actions during the War, Goro estimates that the entire city will be rioting by tomorrow if something isn’t done. Mouth set in a determined line, he makes a decision. “I will go investigate the Barrier.”

The Fae stir anxiously and Goro feels the cold searchlights of Akira’s eyes land on the side of his face.

“I will confirm that the Barrier is still intact and that the enchantments haven’t eroded enough to let anyone through,” he continues firmly.

Some of the most panicked Fae relax a little, muttering amongst themselves, and the others exchange uncertain looks.

“Really, your highness?” someone asks tremulously. “You’ll go?”

Goro dips his head in a solemn nod. “The Archduke sent me here to investigate the Darkening. If this sudden outbreak is indeed caused by an Unseelie among us, I will uncover them. So, please be patient and wait for me to return with news.”

At last, that seems to settle them, and they rustle with grateful words and soft sobs.

Goro ignores the piercing burn of Akira’s gaze as he sets off down the street.

* * *

With no time to summon a groom, Goro sets about saddling his own horse. The massive animal twitches restlessly as Goro prepares it, scaled skin glinting dully in the gray daylight sifting into the stables, no doubt picking up on his anxiety.

“It’ll be a hard day’s ride, if we’re lucky.” Akira’s voice sounds behind him and he glances over his shoulder to see Akira hauling a saddle over the back of another horse. “The ley lines have been disrupted for weeks.”

“You don’t have to come.”

Akira doesn’t pause his preparations, buckling the saddle into place. “You can’t keep me away.”

Goro bristles. “If I _order_ you—”

“I won’t leave you alone.” Akira throws him a scorching look, killing the rest of his words in his mouth. “I’ve snuck after you before and I’ll do it again. Save yourself the trouble.”

Speechless, Goro nearly fails to catch the packed saddlebag Akira tosses at him.

The Stewardess fidgets nervously they mount up. “The storm will be upon us shortly,” she says, glancing up at the dark clouds swirling above them.

“We’re prepared,” Goro assures her, adjusting his spelled cloak for emphasis.

“There are lookout cabins along the border,” she continues fretfully. “I don’t know how well-maintained they are, but the yearly patrols still use them sometimes. You can shelter in one if you have to.”

“Thank you. We’ll try to be back before the worst of it.” Goro nods to her and turns to mount his steed ignoring Akira’s proffered hand. He can mount his own sunsdamned horse.

Akira merely retreats and swings up onto his horse.

“Good luck,” the Stewardess says.

“Inform the Lord of my plans,” Goro instructs her. “So that he can reassure the people. But instruct him not to write the Archduke. I will take care of it if I find something.”

At her nod, Goro spurs his horse forward and Akira follows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this fic is slow to update bc i'm taking extra care with the story. as it gets longer, the more i have to keep track of and i'm trying to hold myself accountable for sustaining such a long work (long for me, anyway). it's so much fine though, and i hope you think so too! lmk!
> 
> follow me on [tumblr](https://mistresseast.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/MistressEast)!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A storm of revelations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello hello!! jeez, this chapter took a while to write lmao. hopefully you'll see why. also!! p5r soon!!! who else is excited?? i can't play it but my favorite LPer said he'd be doing a walkthrough, so i'm still very excited.
> 
> with everything that's happening in the world right now, i'm very grateful to be able to share my stories with all of you, and i hope that this can help provide whatever distraction you might be looking for.
> 
> minor cw: Akira is very casual when discussing his own death

The Barrier runs the entire length of what used to be the border between the Seelie and Unseelie lands, a physical and magical split in the geography. Fae traveling between the two used to use bridges at natural weak spots where the magic was thinnest. Anyone could pass through the border at any point if they wanted, but getting across the canyon took some effort and the effect of passing through the natural magic reservoir was reportedly unpleasant.

Of course, once the Barrier was created, all of that came to an end. The bridges collapsed and the magic inherent to the area spiked uncontrollably, shifting ley lines and disrupting the local flora, causing the previously tame forest along the border to grow wild. Any fae living in the area quickly moved out, and aside from the yearly patrols to check the integrity of the Barrier, no one approaches unless they have to.

Goro and Akira’s steeds are adapted for unusual terrain and unbalanced magical environments, thankfully, and the hardy animals have no trouble catching the sporadic currents of the ley lines, even as the forest grows denser and more unpredictable. Goro doesn’t allow himself to think about anything but the blur of magic and the pounding of the horse’s hooves against the ground.

Akira rides silently right behind him, a dark blot on his awareness that he just can’t shake.

When the ambient magical hum of the forest thickens around them, Goro finally pulls back on the reins to slow his horse. They’re on an old maintenance path, probably only used by the patrols and just barely kempt enough to be rideable, and through the trees just ahead Goro spies the sandy color of stripped earth. The intensity of the Barrier reportedly blasted away the plant life closest to the canyon but Goro’s never had occasion to see it in person to confirm until now.

He guides his steed to the edge of the treeline and dismounts, whistling a command for the animal to stay put. Akira lands lightly beside him and does the same.

“Careful,” Akira warns.

Goro shoots him a look. After nearly an entire day of silence, of course his first word to Goro is an admonishment. “Have you been here before?” he asks stiffly.

“Once,” Akira replies tonelessly.

“Then you know there’s no danger.”

“Direct exposure to such powerful magic always carries danger.”

“I don’t intend to stay very long.” Goro turns and strides out of the trees, his boots coming down hard on the dry, cracked earth just beyond the vegetation line.

The Barrier has no distinct color, but it’s impossible to miss the wall of distorted, opaque air that looms closer with each step. The grey sky above casts the rippling mass of magic in a sickly slate sheen and the whole thing radiates energy like a physical pressure that increases until it’s almost like Goro is walking through water. It’s not unlike the sensation he feels around Akira.

Just before the pressure becomes impassable, Goro halts, goosebumps rippling across his skin at the dense magic buzzing all around him. It’s so shifting and substantial that he can feel his hair blowing as though caught in a breeze. He extends one hand, dipping the tips of his fingers just past the point in the air where the magic hums the strongest, and closes his eyes, extending his senses like he did in the Archives.

His perception stretches away from him, locking onto the powerful radiant magic of the barrier, and Goro’s awareness instantly lights up, flooding with a massive amount of input, crackling and rippling through his fingers into the rest of his body like a glowing wave. The immediacy is startling and Goro sucks in an involuntary breath. He knows that the border patrols do this once a year, but he was always told it took several fae at least an hour to sense out the entire Barrier. What he’s feeling is undoubtedly the entire expanse of the Barrier, after only a slight touch and a few seconds.

The undulating magic surges suddenly, a bright flash of heat, and Goro winces, jerking backwards. Hands on his shoulders steady him and he looks back to see Akira staring grimly at the Barrier. Goro shakes him off and tilts his head back to take in the towering wall of magic. From what he could tell, there were no holes or weak spots in the enchantments. His scan was quick but he felt the entirety of the Barrier and nothing stood out to him as unusual. The sizzle of magic is still fresh on his skin and he twists his fingers together absently, wondering if he should try again.

“Did you sense anything?” Akira asks lowly.

Goro furrows his brows. “No, but I wasn’t expecting the intensity. I should—” he reaches out again, only to find his wrist seized.

“You would know.” Akira’s grip is tight, his eyes hard. “A flaw in the Barrier would be unmistakable, especially to someone with your innate magic.”

Anger licks up Goro’s spine. “When did you become such an expert?”

“I know this.”

“You seem to _know_ a lot of things and yet I _know_ so very little about you,” Goro responds heatedly. “How have you come by all this knowledge?”

Akira shakes his head. “That’s not important.”

“Right, of course it’s not,” Goro snaps, twisting his arm out of Akira’s hold. “You know so much about me, but as soon as I ask about you, it’s _not important_. For all I know, _you’re_ the Unseelie invader.”

Jaw clenched, Akira looks stricken. “My prince—”

“Why are you even here, Akira?” Goro demands. “Just to order me around? Since you clearly know so much more than I do?”

“I came to help you.”

“Don’t give me that!”

“It’s the truth!” Eyes blazing, Akira grabs Goro by both wrists before he can back away. “Doubt me all you want, my prince, but _never_ doubt that!”

Taken aback at his sudden vehemence, Goro can only gape wordlessly.

“You must trust that I care about you,” Akira continues. “I could never leave you to walk into danger alone.”

“Care about me?” Goro repeats incredulously. “Akira, you barely know me! Why are you so willing to throw yourself into this supposed danger alongside someone you met a month ago?”

“My prince—” Akira’s next words are swallowed by a deafening roll of thunder.

Beside them, the Barrier shivers in response to the massive sound and Goro tilts his head back in time for a cold drop of water to splash onto his cheek, tracing a frigid trail down the side of his face.

Then, like a dam breaking, the roiling grey clouds above open to emit sheets of heavy rain, dousing the tension between Goro and Akira in an instant as they both curse and scramble to pull their hoods over their already-soaked heads.

“Do you know where the lookout cabin is?” Akira shouts over the roar of the storm, one hand still on Goro’s, tugging him back toward the treeline.

“I can probably sense the protection spells surrounding it,” Goro yells back, seizing his horse’s reins. “It shouldn’t be far from the Barrier!”

Fortunately, Goro locks onto the faint hum of protection magic quickly, even with the ambient interference from the Barrier so nearby, and they lead the horses on foot only a short distance before reaching a huge, mossy tree. Familiar with what to do from his studies, Goro brushes his hand over a sigil near the base of the trunk, squinting through the rain to see it glow briefly before the wood shrinks away in the shape of a door.

They tuck the horses into a sheltered area among the tree’s massive roots and then Akira follows Goro into the trunk’s opening.

A handful of glowing lanterns flicker awake at their arrival, granting them a dim view of their surroundings. For all his reading, Goro has never been inside one of the lookout cabins along the Barrier, so he’s not sure what to expect. The space they find themselves in is utilitarian but cozy, clearly made for two or three fae to stay in while taking shifts watching for invaders. A small cooking area, a table, and two neatly made beds—all well-maintained but outdated and covered in a fine layer of dust. Fortifying spells lie in the walls, keeping out the chill of the rain but lending the room a measure of stuffiness, especially when the opening seals shut behind them.

Goro strides inside, shedding his cloak and tossing it over one of the chairs surrounding the table. “I misjudged the movement of the storm,” he says blandly, heading for the small stove. A touch brings the spells waiting inside to life and a pale fire swirls into existence. “It’s dangerous to travel with such low visibility. We’ll wait until it eases up.”

Akira doesn’t respond, but Goro can feel him hovering in the entryway behind him and deliberately doesn’t look back.

“We shall have to check the Barrier again before we go back,” he continues, wringing out the longest ends of his hair. “Since you successfully distracted me earlier.”

“My prince—”

“Masterfully done, by the way. You certainly know me very well. Is that why you’re so interested in me, Akira?”

“What—”

“Always watching me—” Goro fists his hand painfully in his hair, glaring at the stove, “—learning me, learning how to _manipulate_ me—”

“No—!”

“Don’t deny it!” Goro whirls around, meeting Akira’s stricken gaze with his own furious stare. “You _can’t _deny it! You have been watching me! At Court—then you follow me all the way out here—someone you barely know—and everything you’ve said—” he grinds his teeth together, fists clenched at his sides. “I cannot begin to guess at your motives, but your actions are those of a man who wants something—so tell me, Akira—” Goro narrows his eyes. “What do you want?”

By the dim, yellowish glow of the lanterns, Goro can see Akira’s already ashen face pale even further but Akira doesn’t waver, holding his gaze with characteristic intensity, and even with dripping hair and sodden boots, he pins Goro from across the room.

A beat of charged silence crackles between them.

Finally, Akira takes a deep breath. “Astute as always, my prince,” he says softly. “You’re right. I have been watching you.”

“I certainly hope I’ve been entertaining,” Goro spits.

“But it is not you I came to Court to watch.”

Goro bristles. “You—”

“And yet I have no choice.” Akira lurches forward a few steps, his cloak swaying with the movement. “I have a purpose,” he states, voice low. “A single goal. And it doesn’t include you, my prince. But I—” another step, bringing him within reaching distance, close enough for Goro to see the heat simmering in his gaze. “I cannot take my eyes off you.”

Goro regards him coldly. “What do you mean?”

“You are right to suspect me,” Akira continues solemnly. “I tricked my way into the Summer Court with malicious intentions. I lied to Count Yoshida. I lied to everyone. I lied to you, all in the service of my goal. I have been playing pretend for _years_, preparing to enact my plan. And yet, when I arrived, all I could see was _you_.”

A dark thrill runs up Goro’s spine. His feet are rooted to the ground, paralyzed even as Akira closes the remaining distance between them and brushes his fingertips against Goro’s gloved hand.

“You...outshine everything,” Akira whispers. “Until I can’t see anything else. Until I don’t want to see anything else. And that’s...very dangerous for someone like me.”

“Who is that?” Goro holds Akira’s stare. “Who are you?”

The corner of Akira’s lips lifts in a soulless half-smile. “I’m no one, my prince. A puppet like anyone else. Like you.” A cold grip encircles Goro’s hand. “Yet somehow more pitiful.”

“That isn’t an answer.”

“It’s the truth.”

“How can I trust your _truth_ when you just admitted that you’ve been lying about everything?” Goro bares his teeth. “Stop talking in circles and _tell_ me—what do you want, Akira?”

Eyes blazing, Akira grabs Goro’s other hand, squeezing tightly. “I am going to kill the King.”

Instinctively, Goro jerks back, his heart leaping into his throat. “You—!”

“That’s the truth, my prince,” Akira charges ahead. “I came to the Court exclusively to gather information about the King with the intent of killing him.”

A hysterical laugh escapes before Goro can stop it. “Are you mad? Do you truly think that _you_ can kill the King? Alone?”

“I’m prepared to give my life.”

“Give as many lives as you wish—it won’t make a difference. The King is ancient—his magic bleeds into the very air around him.” Goro sneers. “He would eviscerate you.”

“I have a plan,” Akira responds, unperturbed.

“Your ambition could not have made you this stupid!”

“I am not doing this out of ambition.”

“Then what?” Goro demands. “What are you so eager to throw your life away for?”

“My prince—” Akira surges forward suddenly, reclaiming Goro's hands and backing him against the stove. “I will tell you—I will tell you everything I know, but you must _listen_ to me.”

“You—” Goro tugs at his caught hands, Akira’s chilly pressure warring with the heat emanating from the stove. “I should just kill you right now—after everything—”

“Listen to my reasons—” Akira begs, “—and if you still wish to kill me, I will not fight you.” He brings their clasped hands to his chest. “I throw myself on your mercy.”

Goro stares at him. “You _are_ mad.”

“I would never fight you, my prince,” Akira whispers.

“You’d throw away years of subterfuge at a word from me?” Goro asks, disbelieving.

“Haven’t I said it before? I am your loyal servant.”

“Fool,” Goro breathes.

“Will you hear me, my prince?”

Eyes narrowed, Goro scans Akira, cataloging his uncharacteristically quick breaths, the slight tremor of his hands, the muted desperation on his face. “Talk,” Goro commands tightly, shoving Akira a few steps away. “And make it good.”

Akira goes easily, releasing Goro’s hands but not removing his ardent stare. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me.” Goro stalks over to one of the cots and sits stiffly on the edge. “I may very well kill you before the rain lets up.”

“Of course.” Akira doesn’t move, watching Goro from the center of the room.

Goro watches him right back. “Well?”

“Futaba is a Seer.”

Goro blinks. “What?”

“Futaba is a Seer,” Akira repeats tonelessly.

“No—that’s impossible—”

“I have seen it myself. She possesses the Art of Sight and I witnessed her while she was having a vision.”

“The Art of Sight no longer exists,” Goro insists. “Whatever you think you—”

“It was unmistakable. She knew things that she would have no way of discovering for herself.”

Goro stares incredulously at Akira, mind whirring as he tries to adjust. “What things?”

Akira presses his lips together. “Things about me. And things about the King.”

“Don’t stall. What did she say?”

“It was jumbled—she’s untrained and unguided—even she is not fully aware of her Art, and it must be kept hidden—but when she started speaking, I knew instantly what was going on.”

“Not fully aware?” Goro echos. “What does that mean?”

“She can’t remember her own visions, merely that she has them, and she can’t control when the Sight affects her. Sojiro keeps her home as much as possible. If someone were to witness her Sight, it might be...dangerous.”

Memories of Futaba’s odd, melancholy behavior back at Leblanc rise to the surface. _Frightened people don’t listen well. To anything._ Of course, after the Seers were purged from the Court in disgrace, ordinary folks wouldn’t be keen to entertain someone claiming to possess the Art. And that would explain Sojiro’s instinctive defensiveness at Goro’s presence. “But you witnessed it?”

“Yes.” Akira shifts his weight. “Not long after I came to Yongen, she had a vision and I learned a terrible truth. The details were vague, but the intention was clear.” He takes a halting step forward. “The King is the source of the Darkening.”

A feeling like ice water creeps into Goro’s veins. He’s on his feet but he doesn’t remember standing, thoughts lost to the cold rushing in his ears. “_What_?”

Once again, Akira closes the distance between them with a few quick strides. “Her vision spoke of a curse, cast by the King, that leeches a Fae’s magic—”

“That’s—”

“I knew I had to infiltrate the Court—I knew I had to stop the King—”

“Tell me—” Goro seizes Akira’s arms, “—everything she said—”

“That’s it—everything else was too jumbled.” Akira sets his jaw. “But she mentioned something—a cipher for the magic—and I thought that if I could find it, I could cut off the King’s power—”

“A cipher?”

“Where do you think all the magic of the Fae affected by the Darkening goes?” Akira’s brows draw together. “It’s a curse, not a disease—that energy can’t just disappear.”

Goro’s fingers curl into the fabric of Akira’s cloak. “And you’re sure it’s the King?”

A sharp nod. “That was the clearest part of the vision. There’s no mistaking it. My prince—” he reaches up, hands hovering over Goro’s shoulders. “You have to trust me. The King is killing the Seelie Fae and I only wish to stop him.”

“Then why—” Goro hisses, “—why did you follow me out here? Away from your goal?”

Akira’s lips part, inhaling shakily, and his hands land on Goro. “It was—foolish of me, but I couldn’t let you come out here on your own. I...I feared what you might find.” He clutches at Goro almost desperately and Goro can only stare at him. “You’re smart, my prince, and if anyone could discover something, it would be you. But if you got too close—”

“You thought the King might do something to me,” Goro finishes hoarsely.

“And you would be alone. I couldn’t bear the thought.”

A hysterical laugh bubbles out of Goro. “I guess you had a point! The spell charge at the Archives could have killed us both!”

Akira nods grimly. “There must have been something among the oldest texts that the King feared you finding.”

“Well, we found it, didn’t we?” Goro releases Akira to press a hand to his forehead, eyes wide as the pieces fall into each other. “It was right there in the Records—the Darkening didn’t reach epidemic levels until the War, even when the Unseelie population was at its height—”

“Exactly—a little more digging and you might—”

“—figure it out—oh, suns—” It’s insane, it’s _blasphemy_, but given what they learned at the Archives, the idea that the Darkening is a curse cast by the King makes a frightening amount of sense, and it fits conveniently with his own goals. It’s almost _too_ perfect. “I...I want to believe you, Akira—” he meets Akira’s hard gaze, “—but this is...huge. It’s _treason_ to even contemplate.”

Akira looks back solemnly, silent, still gripping Goro’s shoulders.

“Do you have any proof?” Goro asks desperately. “Something I can trust—”

“Only my word,” Akira rasps. “Not even Futaba knows what her vision entailed. I kept it from her, so that if I—if something went wrong, she wouldn’t be implicated.”

“That’s very noble of you, Akira, but that’s not _enough_.” Frustrated, Goro brushes Akira’s grip away and paces past him, into the center of the room. He wants to believe this; as horrific as the idea is, at least the King being at the center of the Darkening would give them a target, something more solid than a race of people separated from them by a magical wall. He was planning to kill the King anyway, and if he could save Ann’s friend by doing so—

But it’s an insane claim. As sure as Akira seems, he’s already admitted to lying and Goro can tell he’s still not divulging the entire story. Pausing his steps, Goro worries the tip of his gloved index finger, glancing down at his hands. There _is_ one way to be absolutely sure of Akira’s honesty, even without evidence….

“Akira,” Goro starts, still facing away. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” Akira responds without hesitation.

Heart pounding, Goro turns and fixes Akira with an intent stare. “I want to believe you, but what you’re suggesting is unheard of. The implication alone would be a death sentence in the right ears. If I’m going to trust you, if I’m going to _help_ you, I will need a guarantee of your honesty.”

Akira’s eyes widen hopefully at the words, but his face crumples just as quickly. “I...I have nothing to offer you, my prince.”

“I know. But I have a solution.” Goro takes a deep breath, his stomach flipping unpleasantly. He’s been hiding for so long that the mere thought of exposing himself to Akira is enough to make him dizzy with nerves, little warning bells clanging in his head. His knife weighs heavy on his thigh, reminding him that, should Akira react poorly, he will have no choice but to silence him. But Akira’s face is open, trusting, and if he _is_ telling the truth, Akira would have no reason to betray his secret. So Goro spreads his hands in front of himself in a gesture of supplication and lifts his chin. “I possess the Art of Touch. If you allow me to touch you, I will be able to ascertain whether or not you are lying.”

Akira’s breath hitches audibly, a quick little choking noise, and he goes rigid. “You—my prince, what...what does that mean?” he asks roughly.

“It means I have access to very limited touch-based empathy,” Goro explains. “Through direct contact with my hands, I can..._inhabit_ another Fae, in a way. I can’t read thoughts, but I can sense intentions and emotions by tapping directly into the true form.”

Akira is shaking his head, looking stunned. “The Art of Touch—it shouldn’t exist in the Seelie Kingdom—no one—”

“Believe me, I know that,” Goro cuts in, folding his hands together. “When I awakened to this Art, I scoured the Capital Archives for any information, but it appears as though the Art disappeared even before Sight did, even before the War. There is precious little tangible information about it, and what I did learn—” he presses his lips together. “I decided to keep my Art a secret.”

“Yes,” Akira mutters. “Yes, other people knowing—it could be dangerous for you.”

“They might wish to use me,” Goro agrees.

Akira lets out a dry chuckle. “Your gloves—I had always wondered—”

“So that I don’t accidentally touch anyone. From what I was able to read, it seemed as though the Art could be focused, even turned off with practice, but, obviously, I had no teachers and no way to hone the effects. I had no choice but to avoid touching people altogether. The few times I have slipped up have been...disorienting, to say the least.”

“I have no doubt.”

Goro tilts his head. “You seem to know more about it than most Fae. Though, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, since you always know more than you should.”

“This time, I have no choice, my prince.” Akira’s mouth slants up in a crooked smile and he paces closer, stilling within reach of Goro. “You and I are the same.”

For a beat, the words hang between them as Goro stares at Akira, uncomprehending.

“What?” he finally chokes out.

“I also possess the Art of Touch,” Akira clarifies evenly.

“You—” Goro recoils, frantically scanning his memory, rifling through all the times Akira has touched him, trying to recall if Akira’s hands ever made contact with his bare skin—

“No—my prince—” there’s a hand on his wrist that Goro twists away from only to find his shoulders seized in a steel grip. “Listen to me—”

“You know, don’t you?” Goro snarls right in Akira’s steely expression. “All of your sweet words—throwing yourself on my mercy—it was all just another lie—”

“No—I swear, my prince, I have never used my Art on you—”

“How is that possible?” Goro demands. “How _dare_ you take me for a fool—”

“You said it yourself—the Art can be trained,” Akira says levelly. “I have...had the practice necessary to control the Art. It only activates when I want it to, and I would never—” his gaze burns, pinning Goro to the spot, “—_never_ use it on you without your permission, my prince. When you read me, you’ll see I’m telling the truth.”

For a moment, the only sounds in the cabin are the heavy drumming of the rain outside and the uneven cadence of Goro’s breathing. Almost against his will, Goro feels his instinctive panic and rage tapering off. “So that’s how you planned to defeat the King,” he realizes, voice strangled.

Akira nods somberly.

Goro huffs out a humorless laugh. “We really are the same,” he mumbles.

“Please read me, my prince.” Akira grip on Goro’s shoulders slackens, sliding down until he’s grasping Goro’s hands. “Know that I speak the truth.”

Goro regards him. “You realize what you’re giving me.”

Akira’s stare doesn’t waver. “Everything I have to give is yours,” he murmurs.

Goro’s fingers twitch in Akira’s hold. The reason that Touch is so poorly recorded, the reason Goro hides his Art, the reason he wears gloves and avoids contact with other Fae— “Don’t feed me poetry,” he snaps. “If I touch you, I’ll know the location of your Heart. Do you truly understand what that means?”

For a heartbeat, Akira is silent, and Goro wonders if he’s reconsidering, but then he takes a step back and kneels, lowering himself to the floor on one knee without releasing Goro’s hands before pressing his forehead to the backs of Goro’s gloves. Goro’s breath stutters in his lungs.

“Everything I have to give is yours,” Akira repeats softly. “Especially my Heart.”

“Fool,” Goro breathes, again.

“Please.”

Akira’s eyes gleam in the lantern light, boring into Goro like two gray stars. Even through his gloves, the unnatural cold of Akira’s skin bleeds into Goro’s hands, sparking a shiver down his spine. Akira has no reason to lie, not at this point, but, whether or not he’s right, they’re playing a dangerous game—

Goro has to be sure.

“Very well.” He tugs Akira to his feet and reclaims his hands, pinching his glove at the tip of his right middle finger. “Since you’re so eager to fling yourself on the blade—” the leather slides off smoothly, followed quickly by the left glove, and Goro sets them aside on the table. He flexes his hands, feeling strangely exposed. He’s been caught without his gloves before, but not for very long, and he’s never intentionally removed them in front of anyone. The way Akira’s gaze lingers ardently on his bare skin doesn’t help.

Akira extends his own hands, palms up, and Goro, heart thundering wildly in his ears, brushes their fingers together.

At the first tap of skin on skin, a sensation that Goro hasn’t felt for years swells through him—a rush of energy, flowing like water, that crashes over him, filling his throat and ears until there’s nothing but glowing, searing light.

Distantly, Goro feels himself gasp, a sharp intake of heat, before the light burns everything away.

Akira’s true form is luminous. Blinding in a way you can’t look away from. It spears deep, instantly, overcoming Goro with incomprehensible, sizzling sensation, so different from the true forms he’s felt in the past. Maybe it’s because he knows Akira, or because Akira is so open to it, but Akira’s feelings sing through him with breathtaking clarity—

Anxiety drips inexorably through the flood, tense and shivery, but it’s not the sickly nervousness of a liar. This is jumpier, tinged with desperation that swells hotter and brighter the longer Goro lingers, until his heart is pounding its own frantic echo. It’s the type of anxiety that feeds from sincerity, when the truth is hard to face. And the sincerity runs deep; Goro is staggered by how certain Akira is, the honesty that pervades his entire being. Right now, in this moment, Akira believes everything he’s said.

And even deeper than the fluttery anxiety and absolute confidence that flow from Akira into Goro runs a glittering undercurrent of...something that makes his chest ache. Something fierce, something that Goro’s never felt before—

When the sensation pours through his physical body, he shifts, tightening his grip unconsciously, and the unknown feeling blooms brighter, rippling away from the point of contact in an inexorable wave that steals the air from his lungs with its sudden intensity. As his breath comes rushing back, he’s met with a word, summoned to his mind by the warmth swirling through him:

_Love_.

Goro gasps and wrenches back, breaking the connection and finding himself catapulted back into his singular body with a stomach-flipping lurch. The ghosts of Akira’s consuming heat and light drift through him as he scrambles for his gloves, yanking them on with shaking fingers, and he struggles for breath, fighting the violent shivers that wrack his frame.

“Goro—” Akira sounds wrecked, and the hands on Goro’s waist are clutching and desperate. “I’m sorry—I’m sorry—” apologies pressed into Goro’s shoulder from behind as Goro braces against the table, chest heaving. “I tried to hold it back—I tried—believe me—”

The thundering of Goro’s heart swallows any words that try to rise past his throat and all he can do is breathe, spinning with aftershocks.

“What did you feel?” Akira rasps.

“Akira—” Goro forces out. “I—I felt—I felt—” He’s still burning, the line of Akira against his back is scorching, as if the intensity of Akira’s emotions left hooks under his skin, ripping and tearing past all the layers of civility he’s cultivated so carefully, and when that warmth sang through him, Goro’s raw, terrified core _answered_.

He twists in Akira’s grip, grabs a handful of Akira’s wild, inky curls, and, before Akira can react, crashes their mouths together.

It’s all he can do, the only outlet for the desperation thrumming in his veins. The sensation of Akira’s lips against his sparks up his spine like no magic ever has before, and after a beat of rigid stillness, Akira responds with a throaty groan, seizing Goro around the waist and deepening the kiss so fiercely that Goro finds himself bowed backwards. He clings to Akira, moaning into it, and it should be humiliating—the way his legs shake, the helpless catch of his breath, how quickly he caved to the heat surging inside him—but when Akira bites at his bottom lip before licking insistently into his mouth, everything else in Goro’s mind falls instantly silent.

There’s no room for thought around the utter relief, the breath-taking sense of completion coursing through him.

Fingers shaking, he unclasps Akira’s cloak and the heavy material falls to the floor with a damp thud, allowing Goro to skate his hands over Akira’s shoulders, curling his fingers into the fabric of Akira’s shirt to ground himself as Akira devours him with teeth and tongue.

“Akira—” he begs into Akira’s open mouth, “—move—bed—”

Akira nods wordlessly, barely breaking contact as he pulls Goro back with him, one stumbling step at a time, to one of the cots. When his legs hit the edge, he falls back, and Goro follows, climbing over him on the thin mattress. Akira surges up to press his mouth under Goro’s jaw, and the flash of teeth against his skin drags a moan out of Goro’s throat. Hands slide up his thighs and jerk him further up Akira’s body until he’s straddling Akira’s waist. Distantly, Goro recalls this sensation from their heated sparring session: the pressure between his spread legs as Akira pants beneath him, the hands bracketing his hips, the molten warmth flowing through him with each frenzied pump of his heart—

But now the desire, intentionally muted for so long, is dizzying, and everywhere Akira touches glows.

Tilting his head to give Akira better access, Goro tugs at Akira’s outer-robe, loosening his belt. Akira catches on quickly, and sits up enough to help, stripping the layers of his outfit rapidly and tossing each piece aside until Goro can splay his hands against Akira’s bare chest. Like the rest of him, his chest is pale, almost to the point of looking sickly, and Goro’s eyes trace the faint trails of veins visible beneath the surface of his skin. He aches to remove his gloves again, to touch Akira directly, but the wave of emotion would surely overwhelm him. He’s having enough trouble focusing as it is.

Akira pulls at the fastening on Goro’s belt, flashing him a questioning look, and Goro nods breathlessly. Together, they remove Goro’s upper layers, and as more and more of Goro’s skin is exposed, Akira’s ravenous gaze intensifies. The first brush of Akira’s hands against Goro’s bare sides jolts through him, and the following press of Akira’s lips to his collarbone makes him gasp.

Akira’s skin isn’t hot, and Goro is so ablaze that every point of contact drips down his spine like ice, but every shift and noise Akira makes underneath him feeds the heat boiling under Goro’s skin until he’s trembling in Akira’s lap. He shoves Akira flat against the bed and kisses him hard, meeting Akira’s searching tongue with his own. Akira tangles demanding fingers in Goro’s hair, snaking his other arm around Goro’s waist to press their chests together, and Goro surrenders his weight completely with a sigh.

As though he was waiting for that, Akira twists sideways, and Goro finds himself on his back, blinking dazedly up at Akira as he looms over him. The dim light from the lanterns casts a golden umbra around his frame, painting his pale skin a soft ivory, haloing his head in sunlit thorns. His teeth glitter sharply between his lips as he smiles hungrily down at Goro. “This seems familiar,” he murmurs, lowering himself to nose at Goro’s cheek. “But I’ve got you this time.”

“Please, no banter,” Goro groans, spreading his legs to coax Akira closer. “Just fuck me.”

Akira’s breath hitches. Goro feels it stutter against his throat, before Akira lets out a low growl that coils around Goro’s pounding heart and squeezes. “Yes, my prince.”

Goro throws his head back, clutching at Akira with desperate hands, and lets the luminosity consume him.

* * *

The fire in the stove has mostly burned out, letting the chill creep back into the room, and Goro savors the cool air against his flushed face.

The arm around his middle tightens, and the lips brushing the back of his neck shift, pressing lingering, close-mouthed kisses along his nape. Goro hums, turning his face into the pillow as the body behind him curls closer, fitting tightly into the contours of his own frame. Even under the blankets, Akira’s body doesn’t absorb heat, pressed against Goro in a solid line of lukewarm skin, but Goro still leans into it. His body is hot enough for the both of them right now.

Akira buries his face in the crook of Goro’s neck and breathes in. Goro feels his chest expand. “My prince.” Akira’s voice is gruff and low, crawling with seeking fingers down Goro’s spine. “When you Touched me, did you feel it?”

Goro stares fixedly at the wall, breathing evenly. He doesn’t have to ask what Akira means. “I did.” He’d been...preoccupied at the time, but there was no mistaking the gleaming, luminous center of Akira’s true form. “Are you concerned now? I know yours but you don’t know mine.”

“You can kill me if you wish, my prince.” Akira drags his lips over the shell of Goro’s ear, eliciting a shiver that slides all the way to Goro’s toes.

“Yes, you’ve said that before.”

“I mean it.”

“You shouldn’t be so eager to die by my hand.” Goro clenches his gloved fist on the mattress in front of him. “It’s strange. You’re strange.”

Feather-light fingertips trail along Goro’s bare arm before Akira’s pale, spidery hand slips over Goro’s, covering the dark leather of his glove completely. “You make me strange,” Akira whispers into Goro’s hair. “If I ever must die, I can think of no better way than by your hand, my prince.”

Goro presses his lips together at the words. _My prince_. In Court, it’s a diminutive nickname. In the Outlands, it’s a title used with ignorance. But in Akira’s mouth—

Absurdly, his mind echoes something that Ann told him, so long ago now: _Yes, but when he says it, he means it._

Now, for the first time, Goro hears the current of reverence that runs under the words. Maybe it’s been there the whole time, but Goro wasn’t ready to listen. Perhaps he still isn’t, but he can’t deny it.

He shifts within the circle of Akira’s arms, rolling over to meet Akira’s sterling gaze, and frames Akira’s face with both hands. “Fool,” he murmurs, and he bows Akira’s head enough to press an aching, purposeful kiss right between his dark brows.

Any normal Fae would be wary of someone touching their Heart intentionally, but Akira leans into it, tightening his grip around Goro’s waist, hands splayed possessively on Goro’s back.

Goro’s heart flutters like a bird behind the cage of his ribs as he lays his forehead against Akira’s, eyes closed. For a few restless wingbeats, Goro just breathes, and Akira mirrors him, chests rising and falling gently in tandem.

“What now?” Akira exhales the question against Goro’s lips, and Goro reluctantly blinks his eyes open to meet Akira’s gaze.

“I thought that would be obvious,” he says softly.

Akira watches him intently, waiting.

“We return to Court.”

“Are you sure?”

“It’s the only path forward.” Goro strokes his thumbs over Akira’s sharp cheekbones. “I believe you, and if you’re right, there’s nothing for us to find in Yongen. We need to return to the true source of the Darkening if we have any hope of stopping it.” Even the mere words send a sliver of anxiety lancing through him. If the _source_ of the Darkening is indeed the King, they’re facing nearly insurmountable odds, not to mention moving the timeline of his own plans forward an incredible amount. But any doubt he harbors is quickly silenced by the memory of Ann’s letter. They simply don’t have time to hesitate.

“Conspiring against the King—” Akira starts, brows drawing together, “—you realize you’re courting disaster, my prince?”

“You’re the last person I want to hear that from,” Goro huffs. “How long were you planning to lay low in the Court, getting closer to the King? Years? Decades? He doesn’t trust anyone and he only regularly speaks to my father. You would have been discovered before you could Touch him.”

“But you—” Akira skims a hand down Goro’s back, fitting his fingertips between the notches of Goro’s spine. “You speak to him. You see him.”

Goro takes a halting breath. “I do.”

“All you need is one touch.”

“I know.” How many times has he told himself that? How many times has he watched Shido bow over the King’s hand and pictured himself doing the same? “He doesn’t—only the Archduke is permitted—”

“Goro—” The steel in Akira’s voice brings Goro up short. “You can do this. You’re the smartest Fae in the Summer Court. And the King trusts you, as much as he trusts anyone.”

“And it’s not like I have time to doubt myself, right?” Goro smiles grimly. “The Darkening grows worse by the day. Unless we act immediately, countless people will die.”

Akira’s lips press into a thin line. “Yes.”

“I don’t need you to encourage me. I understand the stakes. I’ve understood the stakes since I was brought to Court.” Goro slides his hands from Akira’s face, down over his jaw, to rest in a loose circle around his throat. Akira doesn’t break eye contact. “I want to make sure _you_ know what we’re risking.”

“I know.”

“Do you?” Goro tightens his grip just slightly. “The King is ancient and powerful. However he came to possess his magic, it’s strong enough to rend the very air around him. Standing in the presence of his true form is said to flay flesh from bone and blast magic to nothingness.” Goro presses his thumbs into the pale skin on either side of the column of Akira’s throat. “You’re prepared for death, but are you prepared for annihilation?”

Akira holds his gaze steadily. “You’ve given this a lot of thought, my prince.”

Goro doesn’t respond, meeting his stare, waiting.

“I have been prepared for this far longer than you could ever know,” Akira says somberly. He finally slides his arms out from around Goro’s waist and reaches for Goro’s hands, lacing their fingers together against his neck. “I’m willing to do anything to defeat the King, even face obliteration. But I won’t die.”

He sounds so certain that Goro can’t resist the humorless laugh that bubbles out of him.

“I won’t.” Akira presses their joined hands harder against his own throat. “I will never allow that cruel, worthless leech to kill me. The only being who will ever have that honor is you, my prince.”

Goro blinks, lips parting

Akira smiles, much too soft for the words he’s speaking. “How could I betray you by dying at the hand of another?”

Goro has half a mind to close his hands and throttle Akira to death right now, but he settles for scowling pointedly.

Heedless, Akira laughs brightly. “Are you going to call me a fool again?”

“You’ve surpassed fool and fallen straight into _moron_.”

“Come, my prince—” still smiling irreverently, Akira uses his grip on Goro’s hands to pull him forward until he can feel the curve of Akira’s mouth against his own. “The rain will let up soon.”

Indeed, the steady patter of the rain outside the shelter is beginning to ease. Their time together is beginning to dwindle. So Goro consents to the deep kiss Akira presses to his mouth and spreads his legs invitingly as Akira climbs over him.

Their fingers are still tangled together, and Goro holds tight, savoring the grounding pressure and the way Akira’s hands tighten in response.

When the rain does die down, Goro and Akira dutifully redress and leave the cabin. The horses eye them balefully but offer no resistance at being lead back into the dripping forest. This time, when Goro fits his foot into the stirrup and Akira offers his hand in assistance, Goro accepts with only a quiet scoff.

Akira’s grip is steady as he helps Goro onto his horse, and he flashes Goro a meaningful look when he swings onto his own steed. “Ready?”

Goro’s only response is a curt nod.

He snaps his reins and, with rays of watery sunlight cutting through the leaves around them, he and Akira set off for Yongen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm working on a fic for a mini-bang rn, so this fic probably won't update for a while, but i've got lots of plans in the works. let's just say, things are about to really heat up in fantasy fairy shuake land lol. thank you for reading and i hope you enjoyed!
> 
> i have a [tumblr](https://mistresseast.tumblr.com/) and a [twitter](https://twitter.com/MistressEast)! they're mostly promare at the moment, but p5 is definitely a running theme, so come join me if you'd like!
> 
> stay safe. things are scary right now, but the fact that i can say that and have everyone know what i'm talking about is very special. we're all here together and i'm thinking about every single one of you <3


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Several surprises greet Goro and Akira upon their return to Court.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! it's been a while!! i've been busy, with other projects and the general state of the world, but this fic is never far from my mind. we are getting down to the end soon and i'm very excited to keep sharing this story with you. i tagged for some imagined violence at the end so just keep an eye out.
> 
> i hope you enjoy!

Unlike their respective arrivals in Yongen, Goro and Akira share a carriage on their departure.

In the time it takes to arrange the necessary travel spells, they bid the requisite farewells and Goro assures the Lord he found no evidence of tampering at the Barrier. He hopes that will be enough to calm the townsfolk long enough for him to actually get to the bottom of what’s happening.

Sojiro seems leery of letting Akira go back to Court, clearly unsettled by the danger lurking around every corner, but he doesn’t protest, and Futaba treats Akira to a crushing hug when she hears. Takemi merely shoots them a meaningful look when they peek into the thankfully calmer clinic. Ohya, on the other hand, forces Akira to promise to tell her the whole story next time he visits, which he gamely agrees to do. Goro thanks her and her partner for everything and quietly requests that they keep the truth of what happened to the annex between them. The whole thing is suspicious and Goro doesn’t want to put a target on the Archivists’ backs.

With everything more-or-less settled, he and Akira head back to Court.

“I’m impressed you managed to keep it hidden all this time,” Akira says softly. He’s pressed along Goro’s side on the seat, cradling one of Goro’s gloved hands between both of his own. “Even I wondered about the gloves, but I never thought too deeply about it.”

Goro flexes his fingers, making room for Akira’s tracing touch. “I had to be very careful,” he admits. “Perhaps fortunately, my status as the Archduke’s son allowed me some distance. Other Fae are always cautious around me, for fear of upsetting my father. By staying friendly but aloof, I was able to keep any curiosity at bay.”

Akira folds their hands together in his own lap, looking up to meet Goro’s eyes. “That must have been very lonely.”

Caught in Akira’s gleaming silver gaze, Goro feels his mouth go dry. “It was necessary. And it wasn’t as though I was a complete pariah. I am perfectly well-liked in Court.”

“When was the last time you touched someone directly?”

“That—” Goro swallows. “There have been...missteps. When I was taken by surprise, or didn’t plan well enough. A woman ran into me last year as I was on my way back from an urgent errand in the middle of the night. I brushed her by accident. There have been a few other times like that.” He purses his lips. “You’re lucky I was wearing my gloves when you slammed into me last month.” Suns, has it only been a month?

Akira’s mouth twists up in a wry smile. “Indeed. That would have given away the whole game.” He sweeps his thumb over the back of Goro’s hand. “When was the last time you touched someone _intentionally_?”

That makes Goro suck in a breath and his hand twitches in Akira’s grip. “Years ago,” he starts quietly. “Before my Art manifested.”

“When was that?”

“It was—” Goro lets out a humorless chuckle. “Well, it was very poetic, in a way. When the Archduke adopted me, he held a public ceremony, and, at the end, he took my hand—” the memories flash through him and Goro darts his eyes away from Akira, focusing on the scenery whipping past the carriage window. “That was...the first time.”

“Suns.”

“Indeed. I had no idea what was happening. I barely managed to keep it together until I could be alone, but it was too late anyway. I saw—” Goro grits his teeth, “—everything.”

Beside him, he feels Akira shift, pressing impossibly closer. “So you...you know—”

“I do.” Smiling grimly, Goro turns back to him. “This may not surprise you, but you aren’t the only one with treasonous aspirations.”

A glittering grin slants across Akira’s face. “I’d expect no less, my prince.”

When Akira leans in to kiss him, Goro briefly considers turning away, just to erase the smugly possessive glint in Akira’s eyes, but what would be the point? He’d already surrendered himself to Akira’s consuming affection, already stared into the blinding glare of his ardent emotions. Playing coy now would accomplish nothing, especially after their rather desperate coupling only yesterday. No one can see them in the private interior of the spelled carriage, so Goro has no excuse not to bow to the desire glowing inside him and open his mouth to deepen the kiss.

A few minutes later, flat on his back against the bench seat, Goro blinks his eyes open to see Akira pull back, a little winded. He untangles one of Goro’s hands from the front of his tunic and presses his lips to Goro’s gloved fingers, trailing reverent kisses over his palm, down to his wrist, where his mouth finally finds hot, bare skin. Goro can only watch dazedly, heart fluttering behind his ribs.

“I can teach you to control it,” Akira murmurs against the soft underside of Goro’s wrist. “The way I do. I can make sure you never fear your Art again.”

“I may be past the point of instruction,” Goro responds honestly. Unless properly trained during a Fae’s formative years, it’s difficult for an Art to reach its full potential. Goro has been locking his Touch away for so long, it may have simply grown that way, stubborn, thorny roots sinking deep into the fearful dark of his chest, unable to be tamed, only ignored.

But Akira doesn’t look concerned. “If it’s you, my prince, I know you can do it.” He brushes his lips against Goro’s wrist again. “I want to give you your hands back. For your sake and for my own selfish reasons.” He presses his cheek into Goro’s palm, gazing down at Goro far too tenderly. “I want to feel them on me. I want to taste every inch of you. I want your fingers in my mouth and in my hair and on my—”

Goro surges upward and swallows Akira’s words, face flushed and pulse roaring in his ears.

He didn’t alert anyone to their return, and even if someone in the town had ignored his instructions not to send word to Court, they left quickly enough that no letter could outpace them, so the carriage house drive is empty when they roll up. The suns are dipping in the sky, golden evening settling in, and Goro quickly leads Akira down the path to the Palace’s main entrance.

“First, we should find Count Yoshida,” he says briskly. “We shouldn’t tell him everything, but I want to report the situation in Yongen to him.” The desire to check on Ann and Shiho is strong, but Goro sets it aside for now. That will be his next priority.

The Palace complex is made up of many grand buildings, the most central of which is where Court is physically held and where the Nobles keep their offices, and that’s where Goro heads now. Even if Yoshida isn’t there at the moment, someone there will know where he is.

The Court’s entrance hall is sweeping and cavernous, constructed of white marble traced through with opalescent veins and faced with towering windows that light the pale, sparkling stone with sunset colors. Normally, the hall is bustling with pages and minor Nobles, coming and going from the branching corridors and filling the air with ambient chatter. Now, however, the great tiled room is nearly empty, and the one page lingering near the entrance startles at their appearance.

Before Goro can inquire about the location of Count Yoshida, she scampers down a hallway with nothing but a nervous backward look.

“Things seem grim around here,” Akira observes quietly.

Goro hums, brows knit. “Let’s go.”

Then the rapid tap of footsteps draws his attention, followed by a sharp voice: “Prince Akechi!”

Turning, Goro is met by the sight of Counselor Niijima hurrying down the wide central staircase that leads to the Court chamber. Her light gray robes billow behind her in her haste.

“Counselor,” Goro greets, perplexed, hurrying to meet her at the base of the stairs. “Is something wrong?”

“When did you get back?” she asks, glancing behind Goro at Akira with an unreadable expression.

Goro slides a look at Akira as well. “Moments ago. Why?” Unease seizes him like a gripping hand. “What’s happened?”

Sae shakes her head. “There’s no time for that—we must—”

“Sis!” Another voice calls from the top of the stairs and Goro looks past Sae to see Makoto nearly sprinting toward them. “Wait!”

“Makoto, that’s enough—” Sae snaps. “This isn’t up for debate!”

Makoto shoots her sister a furious look as she rushes past and ignores Goro completely, grabbing Akira by the arm. “You have to leave,” she says urgently.

Goro bristles. “Excuse me, what—”

But Akira tenses immediately, looking around the hall. “What happened?”

“It’s—” But Sae pulls Makoto away before she can finish.

“Not another word, Makoto,” she orders, dragging her struggling sister backwards.

“Stop it, sis! You know this is wrong!”

The unease turns cold in Goro’s chest. “What the fuck is going on?” He rounds on Akira, fists clenching. “Do you know what she’s talking about?”

Akira just presses his lips together, expression shuttering, and before Goro can demand an answer, the front doors slam open.

“Goro!”

The use of his first name in that distinctive voice is so sudden Goro actually flinches, whipping around to see Shido framed in the expansive doorway, the evening light shining behind him quickly obscured by dozens of armored guards filling in around him.

“Archduke!” Sae yanks Makoto behind herself, nearly tripping them both in her hurry to back up. “I was going to alert you—”

“Calm yourself, Counselor.” Shido steps into the hall, boots echoing off the marble arches. The guards fan out quickly, lining the room as Goro looks on, stunned.

“Archduke—” he starts, moving forward, “—what is—”

“Hush, Goro.” Shido extends a hand, beckoning to him imperiously. “Come here.”

“What?” Goro turns back to Akira, only to find him staring stonily at Shido. Sae avoids his gaze completely, half-carrying her wide-eyed sister down a side hallway to escape. He glances around at the guards, the ice in his chest creeping further. “Tell me what’s going on,” he entreats his father.

Instead of answering, Shido snaps, and a handful of guards detach and descend on them. Their faces are shadowed by their helmets, but their postures are tense. Instinctively, Goro reaches for the knife on his thigh, but Akira’s gentle fingers on his wrist still his hand. For a split-second, Goro meets Akira’s blank expression, catches a flash of something behind his eyes—something almost sorrowful—then two guards grab Akira roughly by the arms and he breaks Goro’s stare, wincing.

“Wait—” Goro lunges forward, but another guard catches him around the middle and pulls him back. “What in both suns are you doing?” Goro struggles, watching furiously as the guards force Akira onto his knees, using a gauntlet in his hair to keep his head bowed.

“It’s alright, Goro,” Shido says smoothly. “You’ve done a great service to the Kingdom by bringing this creature to us.”

“What are you talking about?” Goro spits, wrenching at the arms still dragging him backward, farther from Akira. “Archduke! Explain yourself!”

“As I suspected,” Shido drawls, prowling closer. “You’ve deceived my son as well.”

Akira doesn’t struggle against the hands holding him down. He merely kneels on the tiles like a statue as Shido approaches.

“Deceived?” Goro repeats incredulously.

“This monster has been lying to you, Goro,” Shido declares, gesturing to Akira’s bowed head. “He is an Unseelie invader!”

Goro’s heart pounds in his ears and he freezes, staring.

“His presence in Court, his attachment to you, and his interest in your investigation were all in service of his goal,” Shido continues, folding his hands behind his back as he glares coolly down at Akira. “He is the source of the Darkening and wishes to spread it all across the Summer Kingdom, until nothing remains.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Goro forces out. “I have been by his side for more than a week—surely I would know if—”

“They are master manipulators,” Shido cuts him off. “And adept at blending in. He had you completely fooled, Goro, But it isn’t your fault. Many at Court were taken in by him.”

Goro’s mind spins, trying frantically to reconcile the scene playing out in front of him. “You...you cannot make such an accusation without proof,” he insists, gaze darting between Shido’s disgusted sneer and Akira’s unreadable profile. “How can you possibly know this?”

“I had my suspicions from the very beginning,” Shido says dismissively. “He was the only new addition to Court when the Darkening struck.”

“That’s nothing!” Goro strains against the guard holding him. Truthfully, he could free himself easily, but in the tension-filled entrance hall, that would be tantamount to declaring war, and Goro doesn’t think he can take every single guard by himself. “There are any number of explanations for—”

“Goro—” Shido snaps, angling him a meaningful glare. “Don’t be difficult.”

Goro breathes out heavily, gritting his teeth.

“Even if such a coincidence can be explained away—” Shido reaches into his robe. “This will eliminate all doubt.” He withdraws his hand and displays a long, narrow gemstone.

The faceted edges glint a deep orange in the low golden light streaming through the windows, its distinctive color giving it away.

Goro stares.

Shido reaches down and yanks Akira’s head up by his hair, turning the sun opal in his fingers before Akira’s blank face. “I’m sure you know what this is.”

People outside of Court might not. Sun opal is a rare gemstone that possesses some of the magical qualities of the sun itself. Not enough to guard against the True Night, but enough to be useful to Weavers and magical researchers. And it’s allegedly dangerous to the Unseelie. Unlike the Seelie, who can’t abide long periods without the suns, Unseelie supposedly had no such reverse weakness and could live in the near constant sunlight of the Summer Kingdom with no problems. When exposed to the concentrated light magic in sun opals, however, the stories go that their skin burns, and enough contact can drain their magic and kill them. Due to the stone’s scarcity, forging it into weapons wasn’t feasible, but the King’s sword was rumored to be made completely of sun opal, and it was used to identify Unseelie in hiding.

The Court Archives still possess several samples, one of which is now apparently in Shido’s hand.

“Don’t worry,” Shido continues. “I need you alive for now.”

Goro watches, wide-eyed, as Shido presses the stone against Akira’s cheek.

For a beat, nothing happens, and Goro’s heart hammers fitfully in his chest.

Then a thin stream of pale smoke trickles up from where the sun opal is touching Akira’s skin. Goro just barely catches Akira’s wince, a slight tightening around the eyes, but other than that, Akira doesn’t react. He doesn’t need to.

Shido straightens up with a malicious grin as every guard in the room rustles anxiously. “Monster,” he hisses. “Your reign of terror ends now.”

There’s a rushing in Goro’s ears. He staggers forward, brushing aside the perturbed guard, and approaches Akira on shaking legs.

“Careful, Goro,” Shido warns. “We still don’t know how it’s spreading the disease.”

Goro ignores him, eyes fixed on Akira.

Akira stares back steadily, the darkened mark on his cheek fading quickly back into pale, unblemished skin. His gray eyes track Goro’s hand as he reaches out and takes the sun opal from Shido with numb fingers, and he doesn’t waver when Goro kneels in front of him.

The rushing drowns out whatever jeering comment Shido is making. All Goro can see is Akira’s steely gaze. All he can hear is his own breathing. With underwater slowness, Goro watches his own hand bring the stone to Akira’s cheek.

Again, after a second of delay, smoke curls away from the contact.

“You lied to me.” He says it softly, keeping it in the space between them.

Akira’s lips twitch but he doesn’t respond, even when Goro presses the sun opal harder against his face. A sick hissing sound swells at the motion.

“Truly masterful, Akira. I really believed you.”

“My prince—”

Goro throws the stone to the ground with a sharp _crack_, and pushes himself upright, away from Akira’s glittering eyes.

A hand on his shoulder guides him away but he can’t focus past the thundering of his heart, the nauseous spike of rage piercing through him.

“Lock him up—” Shido is saying, “—the King is still deciding what—”

The guards charge past him in a flood, almost comically excessive compared to Akira’s stooped, unmoving figure, but Goro doesn’t watch.

The ice in his chest sinks all the way down as he turns on his heel and stalks out of the entrance hall.

* * *

Ann finds him first.

Goro means to track her down. He truly does. His concern for her is immeasurable. But by the time he’s conscious of himself again, he’s in his own room and all he has the energy to do is fall to his knees.

He left the curtains drawn, so there’s no evidence of time passing. He’s merely adrift, some distant part of his mind screaming while the rest of him descends into a cold, silent numbness.

Until the frantic pounding on his door jolts him back into himself.

His legs shake as he rises and he takes a deep breath. “Come in.”

The door bursts open and Ann whirls into the room, blonde hair loose and wild. She slams the door back into its frame before literally flinging herself at Goro.

“Oh, Goro,” she gasps, clutching him against her as Goro can only let himself be embraced. “I—I heard about what happened—” she pulls back. “Is it true? Akira was an Unseelie?”

“Yes,” Goro responds tonelessly. “I confirmed it myself.”

“But I don’t understand.” Her large blue eyes are swimming with tears as she looks up at him, arms tight around his neck. “He—he was so kind—and how he doted on you—”

Goro forces his hands to stay gentle as he takes her by the shoulders and eases her away from him. “All lies,” he says shortly. “He attached himself to me to further his goals.”

“Goals?” Ann repeats.

“The Darkening.” Goro turns away and crosses to the settee at the foot of the bed, where someone has left his traveling case. “Of course.”

“Do you truly believe that?”

“What use is there in doubting?” Steadfastly not looking back at her, Goro flips the locks on the trunk and lifts the lid. “Even from the beginning, his behavior was...inexplicable. When you view it through the lens of an enemy agent attempting to gather resources, then suddenly things make a lot more sense.” Akira’s instant affinity for him, his devoted interest in Goro’s plans, his regicidal confession—

With a disgusted scoff, Goro begins pulling clothing from the trunk, tossing it carelessly onto the bed. “He really had us all fooled.”

“I can’t believe this.” Behind him, Goro hears Ann start pacing, light footsteps tapping on the hardwood. “An Unseelie in the Summer Kingdom. I—I’ve spoken to him, spent time with him—he always seemed so—”

“Harmless?”

“Genuine!”

Goro grits his teeth, Akira’s ardent whispers ringing in his ears. _You...outshine everything. Until I can’t see anything else._ “He knew exactly what to say.”

“Did he—did he ever try to hurt you, or—”

“No, of course not,” Goro spits. “He needed me. He needed my position. He needed—” Hands trembling, Goro withdraws a dark leather folio from the trunk and grips it until his fingers hurt.

“I still don’t—why did he leave Court with you like that? If he wanted to spread the Darkening—”

“Ann—” Goro whips around, facing her as her steps falter. “I don’t know his thoughts. I don’t know—why he did everything he did—but the fact remains that he’s an Unseelie. He snuck into the Summer Kingdom and brought the Darkening with him.” Goro curls his gloved fingertips into the leather folio. “You have more reason to hate him than anyone—why are you even questioning this?”

Ann tugs at her messy curls. “I don’t know! I just heard the news and it’s like my mind won’t accept it! It just feels wrong!” She wraps her arms around herself. “You spent so much time with him—he chased after you when you left—you know him much better than I do! Does this feel right to you?”

“It—” Goro sucks in a sharp breath. “That’s irrelevant. What I feel is meaningless.”

“Goro—”

“But it certainly puts a lot of his actions in context,” Goro mumbles bitterly, dropping his eyes to the folio.

“What actions?”

“Ann, I can’t discuss this right now.” Goro turns and throws the folio back into the trunk with more force than he intended. “I appreciate that this is confusing, but—”

“They’ll kill him, you know,” she cuts in, voice drawing close behind him. “The King will destroy him.”

“As he should!” Goro snaps, whipping around to face her troubled expression. “I saw it with my own eyes—that—that _man_ is an Unseelie! The hard truth is that, after he arrived at Court, Shiho fell ill!” Ann flinches but Goro continues on: “He pressed me constantly for details about my life and evaded giving any details of his own! He claimed to have gone to Yongen a few years back, coincidentally when the Darkening began spreading throughout the Outlands in earnest—two coincidences like that?” Goro laughs humorlessly. “I should have suspected him sooner, given how suspicious he was, but he always knew just how to distract me—how to gain my trust! He played me like a harp! To think that I actually _believed_—” Goro breaks off on a ragged inhale, realizing with a jolt that his eyes are burning.

Something clicks in Ann’s face. “Oh, Goro—”

Goro averts his gaze, staring blankly at the closed curtains over the window. “None of it matters now,” he says, keeping his voice carefully flat. “It’s over. Even if Akira isn’t the sole source of the Darkening, the King won’t act beyond executing him. Either the disease will stop, or it will continue to spread and we’ll all die.”

Ann is quiet for a moment, the silence growing thorns between them. “Do you think the disease will stop if he dies?” she asks hoarsely. “Do you think...the infected might be spared?”

Chest clenching, Goro turns back at her, and he’s finally struck by how terrible she looks. Her normally radiant gold hair is dull and limp, and the shadows under her eyes are stark against her pale skin. She’s draped in a shawl that nearly swallows her slender frame, and maybe it’s just that, but Goro swears she looks thinner. “Ann—”

“Shiho doesn’t have long,” Ann admits, hands clutching at the front of her robe. “The Healers say it’s a miracle she’s lived this long at all. Some of the other Fae who fell ill after her have already—” she bites her lip. “I—I don’t know how much longer we can wait.”

The same hot, stabbing shame that Goro felt after receiving Ann’s letter back in Yongen flashes through him. All of his schemes and plans—for what? He was too blind to see the truth and too late to spare the one person he cares about unspeakable grief. What right does he have to be stung by Akira’s betrayal? “Ann, I...I’m sorry. In the end, I couldn’t do anything, even though I swore to you both—”

“Goro, I don’t blame you—”

“But you should, Ann.” Goro stares at her helplessly. “While you were here, relying on me, I was miles away, allowing myself to be led around like a dog.” He raises a hand to his forehead. “What if there were clues? Things I missed because I was too distracted by—everything I thought I was discovering—it was all orchestrated, it was all—”

“Goro—” Ann stumbles forward, catching him by the arms. “If this is true—we were all tricked. I—I am only grateful nothing happened to you—”

“Your friend deserved more than what I gave.”

Ann’s brows pinch together and her fingers tighten in Goro’s sleeves. “She—she would only be grateful that you cared at all—Goro, I have to tell you something—”

If possible, the tangle in Goro’s chest constricts even more. “What is it?”

The grief-stricken gleam in Ann’s eyes dulls into something almost nervous. “I...I’ve decided to Bond with Shiho.”

Goro’s breath catches. “What? Ann, are you insane?”

“I don’t have a choice,” she insists. “Shiho may only have hours left. I’d already decided to do this before you returned—the Healer said that—that at this stage, splitting the damage could give us both a few weeks, maybe, and—”

Panic twisting in his gut, Goro seizes Ann by the shoulders. “Ann, no, that’s suicide!”

“I have to do this!” she argues. “If there’s something I can do that will give Shiho more time, what kind of friend would I be to refuse?” Her eyes shine with tears, but the set of her jaw is resolute. “If you’re right and Akira really is the source of the Darkening, and his death will stop the disease—”

“But we don’t know that—”

“If there’s _any_ chance!” Ann shouts. “Shiho has held on this long—how can I abandon her when there’s even the slightest possibility she might be saved if she just has a little more time? This way, I can help her hang on a little longer.” Her hands travel up and Goro nearly jumps at the heat of her skin against his face as she cups his cheeks. “And if nothing happens, then we’re all doomed anyway. I’d rather die with Shiho than wait for the Darkening to come for me.”

“Ann—” Goro needs to convince her this is madness, a pointless gesture that will only end in her unnecessary death, but the words won’t come, sticking in his throat, and a fine tremor runs through him. “Please—”

“I’m sorry, Goro. I’ve made up my mind.” And she looks sorry, lips trembling, brows furrowed—but Goro knows her well enough to recognize the determined fire in her eyes. Her thumbs sweep over his cheekbones. “I think this might be the end of the world, Goro,” she says somberly. “And we’re all going to have to make choices. This is mine.”

Goro closes his eyes, grief welling up his throat and out his mouth before he can stop it— “You would leave me to face the end of the world alone?” It’s a pathetic, selfish question, and he feels Ann’s breath stutter in response.

“That’s not fair,” she whispers.

“No. It’s not.” Opening his eyes, Goro reaches up and removes her hands. “I apologize.”

“Goro—”

“Your life is your own.” Goro drops her hands and deliberately steps back. “And I’m not surprised you would do something so noble. You’re the bravest Fae I know, Ann, and I’m grateful to have met you.”

“Don’t talk like I’m marching to my death!” Ann balls her hands into fists at her sides. “A miracle might happen! The Darkening might fade!”

Goro drops his gaze. “It might.”

“Goro, please—”

“You have my full support, Ann.” Goro turns back to his trunk. He can’t look at her anymore. “Anything you need—just ask. I...I’ll be here for you.”

Behind him, Ann is silent. Until, finally, she takes a shaking breath. “Thank you.”

Goro stares unseeingly down into the trunk as her soft footsteps sound against the floor. The door clicks open, and he hears her hesitate for a beat. Then the door closes quietly.

And Goro is alone.

His blank eyes fall on the leather folio he picked up earlier. Reaching down, he snags it and flips the front cover open. All of the notes he took during his research in Yongen are filed neatly inside. The small pages he scribbled on while speaking to Takemi are bound together and pinned to the side, while the larger sheets are stacked in one pocket. His own neat, slanting handwriting flows over dates and questions, taunting him with memories of only days ago, of sitting across from Akira in Count Yoshida’s study, trying to puzzle out Yongen’s erased history—

The papers scatter violently as Goro flings the folio to the side, erupting in an explosion of fluttering paper, and Goro screams wordlessly. His fingers tangle in his hair and he staggers away from the settee before collapsing to his knees, his own ragged voice ringing in his ears, filling the room.

The world is ending. The world is ending and Goro let it happen. The world is ending and Goro walked willingly in the arms of this slow, consuming apocalypse, allowed it to charm him with crooked smiles and gleaming eyes and whispered words of devotion. He fell for every lie Akira told him, foolishly believed that his Touch was immutable—surely no one can hide the truth in their true form—but when has Akira ever followed his expectations?

A part of Goro still hums with the light that flowed into him from Akira’s true form, the overwhelming belief and sincerity, the scorching undercurrent of helpless affection—and it turns his stomach. Will he have to reckon with the memory of that lie buzzing under his skin for the rest of his life? Will he feel it every day like a festering wound, inescapable and unforgivable? The thought of being trapped forever with the echo of Akira’s feelings makes him scream again, the sound ripping out of his throat as he folds forward, pressing his forehead to the floor.

If the Darkening is a curse, then Akira’s death might spare the currently afflicted, but that’s not certain, and even that’s only if he’s the caster. The Darkening has been around for thousands of years, and there’s no way Akira, Unseelie or not, is that old. Can curses have multiple casters? Passed down through the years like a legacy? Goro doesn’t know, doesn’t even know where to begin searching to find out. And the curse theory is nothing more than guesswork—and it’s the explanation Akira himself was pushing Goro toward. Whether Takemi was genuine in her belief or not, Goro can’t trust that hypothesis anymore. He can’t trust anything he discovered in Yongen. There’s no way to know what was legitimate and what Akira fabricated or guided him into finding.

Akira’s ultimate deception, his concealment of his true nature, invalidates everything he ever told Goro.

_Everything I have to give is yours. _

Goro’s fingers tighten in his hair and he wishes he could claw the words out of his head, rip all of Akira’s murmurings from under his skin and burn the memories until nothing remains of Akira’s touch, Akira’s voice, Akira’s unwarm presence at his side—

Goro’s furious shriek cracks on a sob.

* * *

“I imagine this has been very difficult for you.”

Goro stares dully up at Shido where he’s perched on his elevated dais. Around him, the rest of the tiered Court chamber waits in silence, tension strumming the air.

“I have no excuses, Archduke.”

“I did not call this inquisition to accuse you,” Shido assures, all steady professionalism and empathy in front of the other Nobles. “We were all fooled to some degree, and you proved your allegiance as soon as you knew the truth. I merely want to collect your side of the story.”

_And put on a show for the Court_. Goro glances to the side. Yoshida is sitting rigidly at his place on the lowest concentric dais, staring at Goro with a stricken expression. While he hasn’t condemned his former page and seems more upset than outraged by the whole thing, the Court hasn’t made any move to punish him. Many of the other Nobles were just as taken with Akira as Yoshida was, and placing blame on him for failing to notice Akira’s true nature might implicate them in the same crime. It’s safer to pile all of the blame on Akira and his trickery.

“I’m afraid I don’t have the answers you may be looking for,” Goro says, looking back to Shido. “Nothing about my acquaintance with the Unseelie strikes me as particularly insidious, but I wasn’t paying attention.”

“How long did you know the Unseelie before you left for the Outlands?” Shido asks.

“I met him just a day after he arrived at Court.” Goro clenches his hand together behind his back. “He was...instantly interested in me, and we spoke several times over the next few weeks. At the time, I thought our meetings were coincidence, but now I wonder if he was seeking me out.”

“Almost certainly.” Shido waves his hand. “Go on.”

The stares of the Nobles towering around him crawl across Goro’s skin like a hundred little beetles. “After I was dispatched to the Outlands to investigate the Darkening, he followed me without my knowledge and convinced me that he wanted to help. I...foolishly, I accepted. There was nothing to find in town, however, perhaps because he was guiding me away from anything useful.”

“The Unseelie had lived in this town, correct?” Shido strokes a finger over his beard. “Count Yoshida, that’s where you picked him up, right?”

Yoshida jumps and Goro cuts his gaze to him. “Yes, Archduke,” he replies quickly, voice subdued. “Yongen is my hometown and in my territory. I met A—the Unseelie there on my last visit.”

Shido sits forward. “And where was he living in town? Is it possible he had aid among our own people?”

Goro doesn’t waver as Yoshida’s eyes dart to his. “I—I’m afraid I don’t know, Archduke,” Yoshida says. “I never pressed him about his life, and he never shared.”

“You weren’t curious about your employee’s background?”

“He was...uncommonly evasive when it came to personal questions.” Yoshida shifts in his seat. “And you know I’ve never put much stock in a person’s background.”

Shido hums thoughtfully. “And you, Goro? Did you discover anything about the Unseelie’s time in Yongen?”

Again, Yoshida catches his eye, lips thin and bloodless.

“No, Archduke,” Goro responds, turning away. “He seemed to know many people in town, but none were particularly close to him, and I gathered no clues about his past, nor do I know where he was living before coming to the Palace.” He regards Shido critically, noting the dissatisfied pinch of his eyebrows, and continues swiftly: “I didn’t notice anything strange until the fire in the Archives.”

The Court rustles anxiously and Shido narrows his eyes. “Fire?”

“The annex I wrote to you about was incinerated before I could finish going through the materials.”

“And you believe this was the work of the Unseelie.”

Goro meets Shido’s stare flatly. “It seems likely, looking back on it.”

“I see.” Shido drums his fingers on the arm of his chair. “What happened next?”

“Due to growing unrest in the town over an influx of new Darkening cases, I elected to visit the Barrier and ensure it was still whole. The Unseelie accompanied me and prevented me from performing a thorough examination, though I didn’t realize I had been diverted at the time.”

“Unfortunate.” Shido peers down his nose at Goro. “And after that, you returned to Court. Why?”

“The Unseelie convinced me to return.”

“How?”

_By feeding my suspicions about the King. _“By playing up my concerns regarding a friend of mine.”

“Ah, yes, that dancer friend of yours is close to the first victim.”

Goro is quiet as Shido taps his chin and regards him shrewdly. The Nobles shift and murmur around him, fading into prickling background noise.

“Very well,” Shido says at length. “I believe I’ve heard enough. It’s clear to me that the Unseelie is a master of lies and deception. The King is aware of the situation, of course, and I am advising him on the best way to dispose of the threat.” He scans the room, addressing the assembled Nobles. “You may tell your regions that the source of the Darkening has been found and will be dealt with shortly.”

_Shortly_, of course, means as soon as enough people are aware of Akira’s existence and fall over themselves to praise the King for his heroic actions.

A sharp clap from Shido dismisses the Court and Goro doesn’t hesitate before striding out of the chamber.

Quick footsteps catch up to him on the steps leading out of the Court building.

“My prince—” Yoshida starts, voice strained. “Why—”

“I won’t tell the Archduke about Sojiro and Futaba,” Goro says tonelessly, not looking at him as they enter a garden path that leads to the residential complex.

“Yes, thank you, my prince, but why—”

“Whether they knew or not is irrelevant.” Frankly, Goro thinks both possibilities are equally likely. Sojiro struck him as exceedingly sharp, and if what Akira said about Futaba being a Seer is true— “It is far too late to care about details like that.”

“Prince Akechi, I—I don’t know how to apologize—”

Goro’s footsteps falter against the stones and he comes to a halt as a wave of dizziness spins through him. “Don’t.” He grits his teeth. “There’s nothing to apologize for, there’s—” the sunlit flowerbeds in front of him sway strangely and he presses a hand to his temple, “—_nothing_ to apologize for. We were all...fooled by him….”

“My prince?”

A light brush against his arm nearly startles Goro out of his skin and he barely stops himself from jerking away, turning to face Yoshida’s concerned expression. “Sorry. I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

Yoshida frowns. “You look pale. Please, my prince, take care of yourself.”

“You as well, Count.” Goro turns away and braces himself against the renewed unsteadiness. “I’m sure all of this will be over soon. In one way or another.”

Before Yoshida can respond, Goro continues down the path, hands shaking.

* * *

Goro can’t sleep.

He lies awake in the glowing night hours, curtains pulled tight. Even though exhaustion weighs on every inch of his body, dragging him down until he can barely stand to keep his eyes open, sleep dances away every evening, leaving him alone with his thoughts in the silence. When he finally drifts off, without realizing, his dreams are dark and churning, full of flashing slate eyes and creeping black veins, until he resurfaces like a drowning man, more tired than before he laid down.

Goro can’t eat.

The mere thought of food turns his stomach. He ignores the meals left at his door for two full days. Fae can’t starve to death unless they give it incredible effort, after all, and he can’t bring himself to care. The hollowness in his stomach has nothing to do with hunger.

There’s plenty to do. The Court is in uproar over the Unseelie, scrambling to prepare for whatever sham trial the King is planning, rushing to organize with the regions to root out any other potential invaders. Goro hears whispers that interrogations of the prisoner have been unsuccessful, that he refuses to speak a single word, but he hasn’t been to see Akira. He has no desire to.

Ann Bonds with Shiho the day after Goro comes back. Goro doesn’t attend. It’s not like it’s a happy occasion, but he does force himself to go out to the villa he installed them in a few days afterward, when he finally gets a break. Thanks to the effects of the Bond, Shiho actually rebounds slightly as the disease latches onto Ann’s magic. The Healers aren’t sure what the exact outcome will be, since no one has actually tried Bonding this late in the disease’s progression, but they predict that the Darkening will drain Ann’s magic at an accelerated rate until she catches up to Shiho’s current state and then their conditions will worsen simultaneously.

The thought makes Goro’s head hurt.

“I really don’t feel that bad yet,” Ann assures him. She’s sitting up in bed, Shiho asleep beside her. “I’ve always been pretty hardy. Lots of me to go around, you know.”

“Right.”

“Goro, you look terrible. Have you been sleeping?”

Goro casts her a disbelieving glance. “Is that really what you should be focusing on right now?”

“Nothing will keep me from worrying about you.” She frowns and reaches out to prod the area under his eye with one trembling finger. “Your bags are getting worse. I’m the sick one—why do you look hours from death?”

Catching her hand in his, Goro lowers it to the blanket between them, gaze lingering on the thin, pale scar winding down her wrist and around her fingers. “I’ve been busy.”

She doesn’t look convinced but she doesn’t pry and Goro leaves soon after to let her rest.

He only sees Sae briefly when she passes by with a group of other Counselors and she studiously avoids his eyes. Fine by him. He doesn’t want to speak to her.

Nor does he want to speak to Makoto, though she seems uncommonly interested in speaking to him, going as far as cornering him in the hall outside his room.

“Do you really believe this nonsense?” she hisses, arms stiff at her sides.

“What nonsense.”

“This tripe about Akira spreading the Darkening.”

“Careful, Makoto,” Goro warns blandly. “Don’t let anyone hear you talking like that.”

“Or what?” Her eyes glint dangerously. “They’ll arrest me? Execute me?”

“Yes.”

Her jaw clenches. “They’re going to kill him, you know. Even though he’s innocent.”

“He’s an Unseelie.” Goro stares over his shoulder, keeping his voice carefully neutral. “That’s undeniable.”

“But that doesn’t mean he spread the disease!” She narrows her eyes, stepping closer. “You know him, Akechi. You _know_—”

“I know he’s fooled you just as thoroughly as he fooled me,” Goro spits, losing the battle against the searing irritation rising inside him. “His role in spreading the Darkening is irrelevant. The King has decided he will die, and so he will. For your own safety, I suggest you let it go.”

She holds his stare steadily. “And if I don’t?”

Goro turns away. “Do whatever you want. It has nothing to do with me.”

As he leaves her behind in the corridor, he struggles to keep his gait from swaying.

The next time he sees her, she’s whispering seriously with Haru Okumura, but his headache keeps him from investigating. Or caring.

Shido doesn’t seek him out again and Goro has nothing to say to him.

* * *

All Goro wants to do is shut himself away and wait until everything stops. Wait for the increasing fatigue in his limbs to consume him. Wait for the pounding behind his eyes to finally split his head open so he won’t have to watch the Kingdom trip over itself to thank the King even as it continues to die.

All he wants to do is sleep without seeing Akira’s face in his dreams.

And yet, despite his own wishes, a week later, Goro finds his feet carrying him down to the dungeons.

The prison complex itself is a holdover from the War, when Unseelie agents would be imprisoned, tortured, and made examples of to showcase the King’s power. Things haven’t changed, apparently.

None of the guards stop him as he makes his way to the vast underground labyrinth located beneath the security complex. The guards that react at all to his presence merely shoot him wary looks and let him pass without comment.

Even down here, the corridors are marble and Goro’s steps ring hollowly, dulling more the deeper he goes. Akira is being held in the lowest, most secure section, the door to which is both physically and magically reinforced. The guards see his face and instantly suspend the enchantments and open the locks to let him through.

The door clangs shut heavily behind him, echoing against the gray walls and floor. Lit by old-fashioned stationary lanterns, the corridor is dim, but not so dim that Goro can’t see Akira’s slim, dark form waiting for him when he reaches his cell.

Goro stands several paces from the bars and Akira mirrors him. It’s jarring, being in his presence after a week, meeting that avid slate gaze and feeling that familiar gravity. Even now, some part of Goro tries to lean into it.

Akira looks mostly the same. His outermost robe is gone, leaving only his slightly tattered dark gray tunic and pants, and he seems more wan than usual, the pale cast of his skin appearing sickly instead of porcelain. His wild hair is noticeably tangled and the shadows under his eyes are deep and bruised. The collar of his tunic is dark with patches of dried blood, but whatever wound produced it is either healed or hidden. He matches Goro’s silence, scanning him so intently that Goro can feel his eyes traveling up and down his body like a physical touch.

Finally, after a suspended moment, he opens his mouth. “You look tired.”

Goro doesn’t respond, regarding Akira searchingly.

Another beat of silence passes, before: “My prince—”

“Shut up,” Goro says flatly. “I didn’t come here to talk.”

Akira tilts his head. “Then why did you come?”

“I’m looking for something.”

“What?”

Goro drags himself a step closer to the bars. “Skin as black as pitch,” he starts softly, lingering on Akira’s pale visage, “and claws like crescent moons—” his eyes drop to Akira’s hands, lax at his sides, before returning to Akira’s face and tracing his thin, ashen lips, “—and jagged, dripping teeth.”

Akira blinks, then his expression darkens. “My prince—”

“I don’t see any of it, of course. You’re an Unseelie, but you look like me. Like any of us.” Goro shakes his head. “Where are the maggots, Akira? Where is the rot? Show me one way I could have known you weren’t like me, weren’t my friend, weren’t—”

“I _am_ like you,” Akira insists sharply. “And I _am_ your friend, Goro, I am—”

“Foolish—” Goro snaps, “—desperate, selfish. Pitiable—” he meets Akira’s blazing eyes. “Like me.”

“My prince—”

“Was it fun leading me around?” Goro asks, pacing forward again. “Watching me stumble over myself in the dark?”

“It was never my desire to deceive you.”

“And yet—you still did.”

Akira grabs the bars and presses himself against them, straining to get closer. “Had I told you everything, you would have been in danger. I could never risk that.”

“Enough pretty words,” Goro demands. “I won’t be taken in by any more of your lies—”

“Nothing I told you was a lie,” Akira cuts in, his voice edging toward anger. “I simply couldn’t reveal the whole truth, but what I said about the King, about my purpose, it was all true—my feelings for you—”

“Shut up!” Fury rising sick and hot in his gut, Goro lurches forward and reaches through the bars to fist one hand in Akira’s inky curls. Akira doesn’t break his stare, even as his other hand whips his dagger from his thigh— “I’ve had enough of your _feelings_!” The blade glints in the lantern light, poised right between Akira’s eyes. Goro’s hand trembles around the reverse grip and he bares his teeth. “I should kill you now for what you’ve done!”

Without a second of hesitation, Akira grabs him around the waist, but instead of pushing him away, he drags him closer, pulling them as flush as possible. “Do it,” Akira breathes into the scant space between their mouths. “I promised—only you are permitted to kill me, my prince.

The hard lines of the bars dig into Goro’s chest but he doesn’t loosen his hold on Akira’s hair. Akira’s hands on his back are heavy, clutching, freezing against his skin even through the layers of his clothes, and Goro’s heart thrums rapidly in his ribcage. “Will killing you stop the Darkening?” he hisses, struggling against his instinct to fold into Akira’s embrace.

“No.”

“How can you prove that?”

Akira’s eyes flick to Goro’s knife hand and Goro bristles.

“You fooled my Touch once! Even your true form is nothing but lies!”

“You know as well as I that true forms cannot deceive—”

“Then how!” Goro nearly yells, voice catching, tightening his grip on Akira’s hair and tilting his head back. “How did I not see it!”

“Seelie and Unseelie aren’t different enough for you to notice!” Akira snakes his hands farther around Goro, gaze unwavering. “They never have been—everything you saw was the truth.”

“That’s impossible! You tricked me somehow!”

“My prince—”

“Everything I found in Yongen was part of your plan! You wanted to lead me into a trap!”

“You can’t honestly think the King is innocent in everything that’s happening,” Akira spits. “You’ve had your suspicions from the beginning, I know you have!”

“You don’t know anything about me!”

“I do!” Akira leans forward, until the tip of the blade is digging into the skin between his furrowed brows. “I know you, Goro!”

“Shut up!”

“You still believe me—” Akira’s eyes are wild, shining like stars and boring right into Goro’s head. “You believe the King is the source of the Darkening, and you believe he can be stopped, and you believe I love—”

“You lied to me!” Goro snarls. “I can’t believe anything you’ve ever said! Anything I’ve ever felt—!”

“You have to—” Akira almost begs, “—please, if you don’t, the world is over—”

“Because of you!” Goro screams. In his periphery, he sees the dagger shake violently, his hand unable to hold it steady. “You did this!”

“You don’t believe that!”

“Stop—” Goro seethes, “—telling me what to think! Planting lies in my head!”

“If you really think I’m the cause of this—” Akira says lowly, “—then kill me.” He presses against the dagger even harder. “The King might resent you for taking his victory, but if you truly believe my death will save the Seelie Kingdom—” his eyes burn, “—then you won’t care. Do it, my prince. Prove your words.”

“I—” Goro’s pulse roars in his ears, his heart throbbing painfully as the world tilts beneath his feet. “I—”

“It would be easy. You know my Heart.”

“You—” Goro gasps in a tattered breath, and, for an instant, the image flashes before him—how he would plunge the blade into Akira’s skull, piercing through layers of flesh and bone and magic to strike the vulnerable core of his true form—how the gleam in his eyes would fade as the light contained inside his body seeped out through the wound, mixing with the rush of blood coursing around the hilt of the dagger—and he feels sick. “Why—why can’t I—” Every place Akira is pressed against him stings like ice, flooding through him until he can’t stand it, body trembling with the desire to run, the desire to lean closer. “What have you _done_ to me—!”

The dagger wobbles pathetically and Akira’s gaze darts to it. Then his eyes widen. “My prince—”

Before Goro can react, Akira unwinds his arms and snatches Goro’s wrist. “What are you—”

Akira’s cold fingers hook into the cuff of his sleeve and pull back, drawing the fabric aside to reveal—

Goro rips his arm away, staring at the black veins creeping over his skin.

“Goro—”

The dagger clangs to the floor but Goro barely hears it, stumbling backward until his back hits the cool marble wall, eyes fixed on the markings as the corridor swims around him.

“Goro!” Akira reaches uselessly toward him through the bars. “Help! Someone, guards—!”

Goro’s legs buckle. He’d been feeling tired, but he thought—he just thought—

Dark tendrils claw across his vision and he doesn’t feel himself hit the ground.

The last thing Goro sees is Akira’s desperate, outstretched hand, before the world spins away and the sinking, churning nothingness sucks him under.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much to everyone who's been supporting this fic! there's no overstating how much your comments and kudos mean to me. i'm not sure when the next chapter will be done, but feel free to check out my other shuake works in the meantime, and/or come visit me on [tumblr](https://mistresseast.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/MistressEast). if you have questions, direct them to one of those accounts as well, please! thank you!!
> 
> stay alert, stay kind, and stay safe <3


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end approaches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> taking a break from smut to bring you more dramatic fantasy nonsense! i hope you enjoy!

“Frankly, I’m surprised it took this long.”

Goro doesn’t look up as Shido invites himself into the room, keeping his eyes on the letter he’s writing.

“Given how much time you spent with the Unseelie, it’s a wonder you weren’t afflicted already.”

“If I had not developed symptoms—” Goro swipes his pen over the page, signing his name, “—people might have started to question the Unseelie’s role in spreading the disease, correct?”

“Look at me when you speak, boy.”

Setting his pen aside, Goro finally turns in his chair to face Shido, but he doesn’t rise to bow like he normally would in the presence of the Archduke. “My apologies.”

Shido, a solid pillar of disapproval in his ornate blue robes, regards him imperiously from the center of the room. Careful not to get too close. “What did the Healers say?”

“My condition is strangely advanced given how little time I’ve been showing symptoms.” It’s hard to pinpoint where Goro’s emotional exhaustion bled into unnatural fatigue, but it couldn’t have been more than a few days before he went to the dungeons. A week ago, now. “And the markings are behaving oddly, but there’s no way to tell why.”

Shido frowns. “Oddly?”

When Goro merely nods, he rolls his eyes and gestures for Goro to show him.

Stiffly, Goro shrugs away the shawl and outer robes he has to wear to keep from shivering constantly and rolls up his left sleeve, revealing the gruesome, spidery collection of black veins.

By the time he was rushed from the dungeons to the Healing Tower, the marks were actively spreading across his skin with a speed that visibly frightened the Healers and Nurses on duty. Typically, the marks spread too gradually to notice outright, but Goro distinctly remembers watching, through a haze of dizzy half-sleep, as the black vines pulsed fitfully and crept farther down his wrist.

Now, as he bares his arm to Shido, the markings have twisted down into his glove and up, from the origin point in the crook of his elbow, over his shoulder, starting to encroach on his neck and wind down his chest. “They spread quickly and erratically,” Goro explains dispassionately, meeting Shido’s disgusted sneer. “Then go through periods of stagnation with no movement at all.”

“It must have something to do with your direct exposure to the Unseelie,” Shido insists.

“Perhaps.” Goro pulls his sleeve back down and starts tugging his layers back on. “Due to this, the Healers are unsure how much time I have left.”

“Hm.” Shido studies him again. “Why are you wearing so much?”

“I’m cold.”

“That’s not a symptom.”

Goro spreads his hands helplessly. “Regardless, I am cold.”

Shido looks dissatisfied but Goro doesn’t have the energy to play his guessing games and merely waits in silence until Shido shifts his weight impatiently. “The King has set the Unseelie’s execution for a week from today,” he says shortly. “If you are still alive by then, you may be spared.”

Truthfully, Goro has no way to gauge how much longer he has left. He’s tired, but he’s been tired since Akira was arrested. His head hurts, but no sleep and not eating will do that. The dizzy and fainting spells are the most concrete symptom escalation, but it’s not like he feels much worse than he did before he went to see Akira. A little more worn down, perhaps. Colder.

“I see,” Goro responds.

“It was foolish of you to visit the Unseelie. It could have reflected very poorly on us.” Shido folds his hands in front of himself. “However, word of your condition has spread, and the fact that you were in the dungeons when you collapsed lends a lot of credence to our claims.”

“Was there doubt surrounding the Unseelie’s culpability?”

“Of course not,” Shido snaps. “Not among anyone who matters, anyway.”

“And now the King has finally set a date.”

“Yes. The Kingdom will be very relieved once the invader is dead.”

“I have no doubt.” Goro holds Shido’s imperious gaze. “Is that all you came here for?”

Shido sneers. “Don’t be insolent. I won’t give you preferential treatment simply because you went and got yourself infected.”

“Even though I’m doing you such a service by dying?”

Eyes narrowing, Shido bristles. “What?”

“I’m not bedridden yet,” Goro says evenly. “I’m aware of what the Court is saying about me, and how you’re leveraging my decline. I’ve observed your evident grief at the prospect of my death and the reaction of the other Nobles.”

“And?” Shido scans Goro with contempt. “Do you have something to say?”

“No.”

“Then keep your _observations_ to yourself. They’ve never done anyone any good.” Straightening his robes, Shido turns to go. “All you need to do is be quiet and wait. Either you’ll be spared when the Unseelie dies, or you won’t.” Pausing with his hand on the door handle, Shido angles a look at Goro. “Either way, you’ll find out soon enough.”

“Is this how you thought it would end?” Goro can’t stop the question before it’s out of his mouth, but Shido hesitates, so Goro presses on: “When you adopted me, how long did you expect this charade to last? Did you plan to install me in the Court? As a plant? Or perhaps force me to become a Counselor and pass your laws?” Goro curls his fist on top of the desk, leather scraping softly over the wood. “Had I not contracted the Darkening, how long did you plan to use me?”

For a beat, Shido says nothing. The silence deadens and rots between them.

“None of that matters now,” Shido finally says. “Plans change. But if you truly want to know—” his eyes flash coldly over his shoulder at Goro, “—this is the most useful you could have ever been to me.”

He wrenches the door open and exits in a whirl of blue fabric.

Goro stares blankly after him, his heart pounding in his ears.

Even though Goro was young when Shido adopted him, he was never under any illusions regarding Shido’s feelings. He was a smart child who understood he was being taken in as a way for the newly appointed Archduke to bolster his public image. It’s not actually uncommon for Nobles to adopt children instead of having biological offspring. Though the aristocracy is supposedly merit-based, many Nobles prefer to keep the power within their families, but having children that are directly related to you carries a certain risk. Heart locations are genetic, passed on to a child through one of their parents, so should an enemy learn the location of your child’s Heart, there’s a fifty percent chance they’ll know yours as well. The solution, back in the more bloodthirsty days of Court, directly after the War when everything was in shambles, was to adopt a child to rear with your values instead of run even the slight chance of someone learning your Heart.

No one really mentions that aspect of why Nobles adopt heirs these days, but Goro always assumed it factored into why Shido decided to take him in. Despite the fact that Shido was sorely misguided in his attempts, for multiple reasons, having a family member in the government could still be fruitful. Even if he never thought he’d live to be Archduke someday, Goro had the vague impression that Shido planned to utilize him within the Summer Court somehow.

But apparently, he’s most valuable to Shido as a corpse.

It makes sense, Goro considers, dragging himself to his feet and stumbling across the room to his bed. A corpse can’t talk or undermine him or be seen doing things that might dishonor the Archduke. A corpse is silent and tragic and easy to use. Goro collapses onto the blankets, images of Shido visibly struggling to hold himself together at the news of his inevitable death flashing through his head. Publicly, Shido would grieve, donning robes of mourning violet to sell the act, all while trading sympathy for favors. And once Shido had everything he wanted, Goro would disappear.

Goro’s head throbs and he presses his hands over his eyes.

With Ann unlikely to live much longer, there will be no one left who truly knows Goro. Yoshida might spare him a thought, or Sae, but to the rest of Court he’s just a smiling, pleasant sycophant.

A hysterical giggle trips out of Goro’s mouth, ringing in the empty room.

It hardly matters whether people remember him, anyway. If Akira’s death doesn’t stop the Darkening, the entire Kingdom is staring down its inevitable demise. And the odds of the execution having _any_ real effect are low.

The thought of Akira twists like a knife and Goro curls tighter around himself, trying to block out the unbidden memory of firm hands on his back, cold warmth seeping through prison bars, slate eyes challenging him to _prove it_—

Gritting his teeth, Goro shoves himself up on shaking arms. He really doesn’t have time to wallow. He has affairs to set in order.

* * *

Ann’s fingers shake as she traces the ugly black veins.

“I….” her blue eyes shine with unshed tears, fixed on Goro’s arm. “I—I don’t...oh, Goro—”

“It’s okay.”

“No.” She looks up fiercely. “You don’t deserve this.”

“None of the afflicted _deserve_ it.” Goro’s gaze darts to Shiho, still and practically comatose beside Ann in the bed. Her markings have made it all the way to her face, inching up over her jaw and dyeing her lips black. “The Darkening doesn’t choose its victims.”

“Maybe it does,” Ann bites out. “Vicious, spiteful thing—that you would go through all of this to solve the mystery only to succumb to it—it’s too tragic.”

“It’s poetry, Ann.”

“It’s shitty poetry.”

Goro huffs a grim laugh. “I’m relieved you’re still feeling well enough to snap at me.”

“I’m not dead yet.”

The _yet_ lingers in the air between them.

After a beat, Ann places her hands on the inside of Goro’s arm, as through trying to cover up the spreading black mass. Her own markings are much less veiny and scattered, twining up her left leg from her ankle in long, unbroken strokes. Thankfully, the blankets are covering them right now. Goro isn’t sure he could handle seeing them. “I heard that you went to see him,” Ann says softly.

Goro turns his head, looking out into the garden past the bedroom’s patio doors. He left them cracked when he crept in, allowing a cool, floral breeze into the room. “It was foolish.”

“Goro.”

“I was helpless against it, Ann.” Goro covers her hands with one of his. “I had to see him. There was no reason, nothing I could have gained, and yet, I—”

“This is just something you can’t think about logically.” She knits her brows. “You still care for him.”

“I should feel nothing but disgust for him,” Goro insists. “He lied to me, used me, he—” clenching his fist, Goro draws his arm out from under Ann’s gentle touch, glaring hard at the markings, “—he did _this_ to me, Ann.”

She’s quiet for a second, and he can feel her eyes on the side of his face. “Do you really think he’d do that?” she asks softly. “Infect you on purpose?”

“What else am I to think?”

“I can’t say anything for sure, Goro. I didn’t know him very well. But—” she shifts slightly, gathering her limp blonde hair over one shoulder, “—how he looked at you—I just can’t believe he wanted to hurt you.”

Something unpleasant squirms in Goro’s chest. He really doesn’t want to think about how Akira _looked_ at him. “You’ve always wanted to see the best in people, Ann.”

“I’m usually right.”

“Not this time.”

“Is that truly what you believe?”

Goro glances up, finds himself caught in her steady, patient gaze. “I….” He swallows. “It doesn’t matter now. Aki—the Unseelie is going to be executed in less than a week. What I think of him and his motives...is irrelevant.”

Ann’s mouth twists to the side and her eyes dart to Shiho. “I think we can hold out that long,” she whispers. “But if nothing changes….”

Goro’s heart stutters. “Right.”

“Don’t look so dour!” Ann flashes him a smile, still brilliant despite the obvious strain. “I still feel mostly alright, and I’m hopeful! Shiho sleeps most of the time, but she hasn’t gotten any worse. I still think we might make it out of this!” She reaches out and reclaims Goro’s hand, curling her fingers around the smooth leather of his glove. “All of us. So don’t give yourself up yet, Goro.”

“I wish I had even a drop of your optimism, Ann,” Goro responds honestly, squeezing her hand.

“Take some! You’re welcome to it.”

“I...I’ll try.” With a faint smile, Goro leans forward to press a kiss to Ann’s forehead. She submits to it eagerly but Goro doesn’t miss the flicker of anxiety in her expression as he pulls back. “Just rest and don’t worry about anything. I’m going to make sure everything is taken care of for you two, should you outlive me.” With the bizarre way his symptoms are manifesting, there’s every possibility that Goro might drop dead tomorrow.

“Goro—” Ann looks like she wants to say more but holds herself back in favor of sighing and squeezing his hand. “You too. Rest, please.”

“I hardly have the energy for much else.”

Despite that, when Goro leaves a drooping Ann, he doesn’t go right back to his room. Instead, after arriving back at the Palace, he drags his unsteady feet all the way to the archival complex and forces himself up the narrow stairs of the Celestial Tower.

He needs to take advantage of his comparatively good health. He’s not sure if he’ll ever be well enough to come here again.

It’s a sobering thought but one that he can’t shake as he trails his hand over the tarnished gold metal of the telescope. He doesn’t bother opening the ceiling. The suns are still firmly in the sky, the next True Night nearly two weeks away, and there’s no point going through the effort of cranking the old machinery if it won’t reward Goro with a view of the stars.

Standing beside the massive device, Goro can’t keep his mind from straying back to the last time he was here. The simmering moment he shared with Akira after the Lantern Banquet was less than two months ago, and yet when Goro recalls it, the memories drift over him with the distance of years.

Still, when he glances over at the top of the stairs leading into the room, he almost expects to see Akira’s dark head rising into view. But there’s no one there, and Goro sinks on shaking legs to the floor. The aged hardwood creaks under his weight as he slumps against the base of the telescope, staring blankly at the instruments lining the walls.

By the end of the week, Akira will be dead. Goro doesn’t know the details of the King’s execution plans, having buried his head in his own work to avoid any mention of the event, but whatever it is, Goro is sure it will be theatrical and humiliating, designed to make the King appear as godly as possible. Back at the cabin, Akira said he was prepared to die for his goals, unwavering even in the face of Goro’s warnings about the King’s power—Goro wonders if he feels the same now, staring down the blade for real. Does he feel accomplished? Vindicated in having spread the Darkening so far, if indeed that was his mission all along?

Or is he scared? Is he picturing the moment of his death with trepidation? Is he mourning the minor coincidences that lead to his discovery, lamenting that he didn’t find a more loyal ally in the Archduke’s lonely son? Is he thinking of whatever home he left behind in the Unseelie lands, or even the small family he found in Yongen, with regret?

And what of Sojiro and Futaba? Takemi and Ohya and Hifumi and all the people who looked at Akira with such affection? News of the execution has traveled throughout the entire Summer Kingdom by this point, so surely they’re aware of what’s happening. Are they stunned? Angry that they were tricked? Or perhaps they, like Makoto, believe Akira to be innocent. But speaking those doubts would be dangerous in such a volatile environment, so, regardless of their true feelings, they have little choice but to stand back and watch.

Like Goro. All he can do is watch.

And remembering the people back in Yongen just sends a queasy shiver through him.

On top of everything else, Goro finds himself wondering if Akira is thinking about him as he approaches his death. Their...conversation in the dungeon didn’t resolve anything, and, spitefully, Goro can’t help but hope that Akira is just as tormented by thoughts of him as he is by thoughts of Akira. Does he care that Goro is rapidly nearing his own death? He always sang such pretty words about caring for Goro, wanting to keep him safe, but how much was part of his disguise? How much was calculated to prey on Goro’s desires? Was any of it real?

Part of Goro prays he won’t live long enough to see Akira die.

There’s a lot he still has to do, and he can’t count on having as much time as a normal Darkening patient to do it, so he really shouldn’t be indulging in this mental mire. Nothing will come of making himself sicker with thoughts of Akira. But it’s a raw, open wound inside him, and the longer he looks away, the more it festers.

The fact that he still loves Akira creeps through him like poison, more painful than the wasting disease currently draining his life.

As the dim silence of the Celestial Tower settles around him, Goro curls into himself and refuses to cry again.

* * *

His decline is swift and unnerving.

It’s barely another full day before Goro can hardly stand. At least he managed to write all of his planned correspondence, he muses hazily, confined to bed after collapsing on the way to the carriage house.

The Healers are visibly unsettled by his symptoms and eventually he tells them to stop coming by regularly to check on him. He’ll summon them if he needs something. They protest, but not adamantly, and waste no time leaving when he dismisses them. There’s nothing they can do for him now anyway.

From what he knows about the Darkening and what he learned from Takemi, the disease moves steadily, inching along at a fixed pace until the patient’s magic and life are extinguished. Victims progress through the stages more or less uniformly. And yet Goro’s Darkening takes from him in fits and starts, hesitating at the threshold before grabbing everything it can get its claws on at once.

The result is a few hours of feeling almost well enough to sit up, stand, walk, and then, with no warning, tumbling into nothingness, surfacing briefly to harried whispers before sinking again, repeat, with the moments of lucidity growing rarer and rarer as the days pass.

Sometimes, when Goro awakens, he’s not alone. Shido may be there, nodding solemnly along with something a Healer is telling him. Or Yoshida, sitting tensely at his bedside as though worried he’s not allowed to be there. A few times, he thinks he catches Sae’s distinctive gray hair and clipped tones, but he can’t be sure.

He doesn’t know why she’d come to see him. She never had a particular affinity for him beyond his usefulness to her work.

Once, he blinks swimming eyes open to find, bizarrely, Makoto lingering beside the bed. Even though his sluggish brain decides he must be dreaming, he can’t stop his mouth: “Makoto, what—?”

“I’m not here for you,” she says curtly, sounding as though she’s speaking from a long way away. “Tell me, what have the Healers been saying?”

Goro gazes blankly at her. “Why?”

“Just answer me.”

“I may have hours, days, or weeks.” Goro lets his head roll to the side, vision sliding out of focus as the dark tide rises menacingly again. “There’s...no way to know….”

“Akechi, don’t mistake this as care, but you _cannot_ die, understand?”

“Some things can’t be helped—” Goro draws in a reedy breath. “Makoto, I know you don’t like me, but please—” he struggles to hold her gaze, “—Ann is staying in a villa out—outside of the Palace. I sent her a letter, but, please, if you could check on her—”

“I’ll go.” Makoto’s voice is almost lost to the rushing in his ears, but he hears it. “I know where she is. Akechi, listen to me—”

But the tide surges and Goro can only let it drag him away.

If he thought his deteriorating condition would allow him to lose track of time and miss Akira’s execution, he’s sorely mistaken. Even in the clutching darkness, the event looms on the horizon of his perception, crawling closer with each hour his addled mind thinks it prudent to count, and on the day before, he’s feeling unfortunately alert.

Not strong enough to get anything done, but aware enough to stare up at the canopy over his head and dwell in thoughts of Akira’s final moments. His gloved hands pluck listlessly at the quilt covering him as he wishes he could just slip back into unconsciousness and never wake up.

Until a sharp rap on his door startles him out of visions of bottomless gray eyes and inky hair matted with blood.

“Goro Akechi!” a youthful, feminine, and vaguely familiar voice calls imperiously from the hall. “Prepare yourself! The King has deigned to pay you a visit!”

It takes a second for the words to sink past the exhausted haze over his mind, but, when they do, they pierce him like arrows.

The King is outside of his room. The King has left the Central Palace. Why? For the express purpose of visiting Goro? Is the Archduke there? Why would Shido not warn him?

Goro doesn’t have time to puzzle everything out—with shaking hands, he shoves the blankets away before staggering upright. He’s sure he looks far from presentable: loose sleeping robes and pants, hair uncombed and unruly, still wearing his gloves out of anxiety, but there’s nothing he can do to neaten himself up, nor does he much care to try. The world spins sickeningly, but he manages to stumble into the center of the room and fall to his knees just as the door bangs open.

“No need for such force, Caroline—” a deep, resonant voice flows into the room and trickles over Goro’s skin like searching fingers, “—the boy isn’t well.”

“I apologize, your highness.”

Goro keeps his eyes on the carpet as the air in the room displaces around him, folding back on itself to make room for the King’s massive presence. He doesn’t dare speak, still trying to conceptualize the fact that the King is in his room.

“You may raise your head,” one of the King’s attendants barks.

Slowly, Goro lifts his gaze and, sure enough, the King’s broad form is towering just inside his door, looking almost comically out of place in a normal chamber as opposed to his usual grand, sweeping throne room. His shimmering, intricately embroidered robes skim the floor as he paces a few steps closer to Goro’s kneeling form.

“Little prince,” he rumbles, gemstone eyes fixed downward. His proximity raises the hairs on Goro’s neck and he has to fight not to recoil instinctively. “I wished to grace you with my appreciation, but I understand your condition has left you too weak to visit me.”

When Goro can only stare in response, Caroline leans around the King’s figure, scowling. “The King has graciously come all the way here just to see you! Where is your gratitude?”

“Caroline,” the King scolds softly.

“Apologies,” she grumbles.

A fine tremor runs up Goro’s spine. “I apologize, your highness,” he finally manages. “Th—thank you for—coming all this way for—for the likes of me.”

“I do not leave the Central Palace often,” Yaldaboath says, words humming through the air until the room is full of them, weighing on Goro’s shoulders. “However, now, on the eve of the Unseelie’s execution, this favor must be paid.”

“Favor?”

“Your tireless devotion to the Summer Kingdom has led to the discovery of the plague’s source. I regret that, in the course of your efforts, this fate has befallen you, but know that your sacrifice will not go forgotten.”

Realization dawns in him like a slow slide into freezing water. The King plans to push the story of the tragic young prince, infected with the Darkening in his attempts to save the Kingdom, past the point of salvation by the time the enemy element was discovered. Perhaps, in a few years, whoever hasn’t died of the disease already will recount the tale the way one would a myth.

Goro honestly can’t decide if he prefers that to being forgotten.

“I...I proudly give my life for the safety of the Kingdom.”

The King regards him, and though his expression is as hollow and impassive as ever, Goro gets the distinct impression that the King is studying him closely, spider’s legs tickling across his skin as the King’s eyes sweep him up and down.

“You have performed admirably,” the King goes on. “Despite the obstacles and threats to your life, you never relented in your search for the truth. You are not at fault for the Unseelie’s deception.”

“I...I only wish I had been more vigilant. Perhaps I could have prevented some of the Unseelie’s damage.”

“Yes,” the King agrees, dipping his head as though in sorrow. “I mourn the death brought to Yongen, as I mourn the loss of Yongen’s oldests texts to the Unseelie’s spell charge. The Fae of the Winter Kingdom have never been more than parasites. They are the plague themselves. See how low we are laid by merely one of their kind.”

Something taps at the edge of Goro’s mind, something separate from the creeping magical fingers still assessing him as he kneels. He keeps his face blank as the King lifts his head.

“But you have done your part in ensuring that no more infiltrate our ranks. I hear you even went as far as the Barrier.” The King’s attention sharpens, pinning Goro in place like a pike through his chest. “You found it undisturbed, I trust?”

“Yes, my King. I found no clue as to how the Unseelie crossed over from the Winter Kingdom.”

“They are rich in magical power, and the Barrier is old. I am not surprised that an Unseelie as powerful as this one managed to break through, but my magic is too strong to allow any more. Nevertheless, I will order the Barrier reinforced, as a precaution.”

“Your concern for your people is...humbling.”

“I only wish I had the foresight to somehow predict this. Perhaps, then you could have been spared, little prince.”

Goro clenches his jaw.

“Had this not come to pass, you would have had a glorious future at my side.” With a smooth, imperious motion, the King extends one arm in Goro’s direction, ornate sleeve trailing the floor as he displays his broad, pale hand. “In gratitude, I permit you to show your fealty.”

The tireless, roiling anxiety in Goro’s chest flash-freezes and his breath stalls, frigid cracks racing through his body as he stares at the King’s hand.

Mechanically, he grips the tip of his left middle finger and tugs his glove off, leaving his skin bare to the humming magic filling the room. Eyes glued to the stark tendons radiating into the King’s bony knuckles, Goro rises on his knees, his trembling momentarily stunned into stillness, and reaches out.

“Thank you, your highness.” The air surrounding the King’s skin buzzes and crawls, brushing the tips of Goro’s fingers like a layer of thrumming fog, and Goro glances up into the King’s glowing eyes. “Even in death, I remain your faithful servant.”

Dripping in prickling, slithering attention, Goro slides his fingers under the King’s palm and presses his forehead to the back of the King’s hand.

* * *

A shiver wracks Goro’s frame.

He’s still in nothing but his sleeping robes, and the cool glass of the window against his shoulder and the side of his head isn’t doing much to help the chill sitting in his bones, but he can’t summon the energy to care.

His room features a wall of tall, arched windows that open into a well-groomed courtyard, and from his position leaning against the centermost pane, he can let his eyes rest on the mournful, opalescent violet of the evening sky stretching over the Palace. After the King and his attendants swept out, Goro didn’t even bother returning to bed, instead dragging himself across the floor and pushing one of the curtains aside to stare blankly out at the setting suns.

The pixies are awake, darting through the foliage as little streaks of prismatic light. Goro tracks their movements absently, sinking heavier against the window. Around him, the room is dark and still. Beyond the glass, the gardens are quiet, shadows reaching long between the trees and flower beds.

The hush settles under his skin, despite the pervasive cold, and Goro takes in a thin, rattling breath as the colors of the courtyard bleed into a twilight blur.

Then a click splits the silence.

Goro is familiar with the soft creak of his windows swinging open, but usually he’s the one opening them. Now, however, the cool, rose-scented air drifting into the room, and the responding billow of the curtains to his right are not his doing. Unable to lift his gaze from the courtyard, Goro feels his hair stir in the wind before the soft pad of light footsteps brings a dark figure into his periphery.

Wordlessly, Akira kneels down, bringing his cold gravity into Goro’s radius, and then there are gentle fingers brushing the hair out of his face.

The touch aches.

Shifting forward, Akira hooks one arm under Goro’s knees and uses his other to pull Goro against his chest. Goro doesn’t resist, too exhausted to fight or even question it as Akira rises smoothly, and when his head falls against Akira’s shoulder, he lets Akira’s familiar earthy scent wash over him.

In a few fluid strides, Akira arrives at the bed and Goro feels himself being carefully lowered onto the mattress. Akira’s presence moves away and panic surges sluggishly in Goro’s chest, but he returns almost instantly, tucking the blankets around Goro’s shivering form.

A weight settles beside him, dipping the mattress, and Goro forces his head to turn, blinking hard to clear his vision. Everything is still fuzzy at the edges but, like always, Akira snaps into perfect focus. The setting sun casts everything in its path in a gauzy magenta light, and it graces Akira’s pale visage with a rosy glow. His hair is a crown of indigo brambles, and the depths of his eyes flash silver as he scans Goro’s face. It’s a sight Goro thought he’d never see again, and his weary heart flickers in its cage.

“My prince.” The words are barely a whisper, breathed into the light beaming between them, and Goro feels soft fingertips tracing over his cheekbone. “I’m so sorry.”

Apologizing. As if this is his fault. As if Goro didn’t turn this blade on himself.

“I never wanted—” Akira’s dark brows pinch together and his hand falls to Goro’s jaw, cupping the sharp bone delicately. “I should have never involved you. I’m sorry—I’m sorry—”

“Stop—” Goro forces his voice out, struggling to meet Akira’s intent gaze, “Akira—” he breaks off, gasping weakly, and Akira’s face darkens.

“Please, my prince—” he lists forward, until his wild fringe is just skimming Goro’s forehead, “—wait just a little longer. I’m going to fix this, I promise you. I will not let you die.”

It’s an absurd statement, but Goro doesn’t have time to refute it. His strength is flagging, unconsciousness tugging at the edges of his mind like a black tide, and there’s something Akira _must_ know—

Summoning the last embers of his strength, Goro sucks in a rasping breath. “The King—” he whispers, dragging one hand free of the blankets as Akira blinks down at him, “—he was here—he...he came here—” Goro’s hand shakes horribly as he raises it to Akira’s face and he wishes desperately that he could feel Akira’s bare skin, but even through his glove, Akira’s cheek is cold. “He...wanted to thank me—”

Akira holds perfectly still as Goro lets his hand slip lower, over Akira’s jaw, down the flowing line of Akira’s neck—

“—he let me...swear fealty—like my father does—” Goro rests his fingertips against the hollow of Akira’s throat, pressing intentionally into the dip between his collarbones. “—and I did.”

Akira’s eyes widen.

Goro’s trembling muscles fail him and his hand starts to fall, but Akira catches it and moves it back to his face, leaning his cheek into Goro’s gloved palm. “Thank you, my prince,” he murmurs. “Thank you for trusting me.”

Goro doesn’t have the energy to explain that the King would have no way to know that the fire in Yongen’s Archives was caused by a spell charge unless he had a hand in it, but the warmth in Akira’s eyes makes it obvious that he doesn’t care why Goro changed his mind. He doesn’t care that Goro abandoned him, let him be arrested, and stood aside while his execution drew nearer.

He kisses his betrayer’s palm and leans down to brush their noses together.

“Please, hold on just a little longer,” he murmurs.

“Run—” Goro slurs, “—get—out—”

Akira’s breath ghosts across Goro’s lips. “Forgive me, my prince, but I will not leave you alone.”

Darkness creeps into the frame of Goro’s vision, cutting through the pale moon of Akira’s face above him. “Fool.”

Akira’s low hum is Goro’s only indication that the word actually made it out of his mouth.

“Akira!” a sharp, feminine voice hisses, breaking the strange sunset spell over the room. “We have to go!”

Gray eyes darting to the side, Akira leans back with a frown. He squeezes Goro’s hand, his outline fuzzing into the shadows surrounding them, and Goro’s eyelids droop involuntarily.

“Wait for me, my prince,” Akira whispers hurriedly. “Please—I promise I—”

“Akira!”

“I’ll be back.”

Goro barely feels the kiss pressed to his forehead, the black water surging around him, threatening to suck him back under. The weight at his side vanishes and his hand lies empty on the blankets as retreating footsteps ring in his ears.

A creak, a click, and Goro is alone with the hungry tide again.

It only takes the space of two labored breaths for the sound of voices shouting outside the door to trickle into the room:

_“Check on the Archduke’s son—_

_“—the Unseelie has escaped—!”_

A grim smile twists the corner of Goro’s mouth as he surrenders to the depths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one was a bit short, but we're nearing the end and i want to give the climax a lot of room to breathe. i'm not sure when i'll see you again, but until then, thank you for reading and lmk what you think! <3
> 
> come visit me on [tumblr](https://mistresseast.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/MistressEast)!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The stars come out again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some wonderful folks have made art for this fever dream and i couldn't be more grateful! check them out:
> 
> some beautiful [costume designs](https://twitter.com/thatumbrellaoni/status/1287516228685307906) for fae!shuake  
a stunning [comic](https://twitter.com/ozdazed/status/1287212292103430144) of the archives scene in chapter 3  
two amazing renditions of the end of chapter 9: [1](https://twitter.com/daehlias/status/1287834929561296897), [2](https://sleep-deprived-onion.tumblr.com/post/624101563200339968/the-new-chapter-of-gleaming-darkness-luminous)
> 
> i'll try to keep this short, but please know that i'm super excited and nervous to share this chapter. some of the imagery in this chapter is what inspired me to write this fic in the first place and i've been fantasizing about this climax since the very beginning. i hope it's as satisfying to read as it was to write. please enjoy!

The cold is ceaseless—broken glass scraping against his bones with each weakening shiver.

No fire or blanket or warming spell spares him. It’s a constant companion in the week that creeps by after Akira’s escape, bleeding into Goro’s heavy dreams when he manages to drop off at all and choking his hazy memories of Akira’s soft eyes with frigid black veins.

In the wake of the Unseelie’s disappearance, a deathly silence falls over the Palace, every Fae within fearing the King’s and, more immediately, the Archduke’s ire. Even Goro, half-conscious and lingering as he is, can feel the pall spreading through the corridors like smoke from a heatless blaze.

Despite how the irrevocable passing of time haunts him, Goro doesn’t note exactly what day it is until his room falls completely dark. When he realizes that no sunlight is reaching through the gaps in his curtains, an exhausted instinct urges him out of bed.

Legs shaking, clutching his shawl around his shoulders, he stumbles to the nearest window and inches the curtain aside. These small efforts leave him gasping, but even now, moments from fading away completely, Goro is chased by the wild need to see the stars.

The view from his room is much more limited than the view from the Celestial Tower, or even from Yoshida’s Outland estate, but Goro can still see a swath of black sky, glittering with a spray of tiny, distant gems.

As he blinks up at them, leaning heavily against the glass, memories of the past two True Nights rise spitefully to the front of his mind. He’s only seen the stars with Akira twice, and yet bathing in the cool light of the night sky without him feels blasphemous.

At least he’ll never have to do it again.

The sound of harsh footsteps in the corridor cuts through the unwanted phantoms of Akira’s hands on his hips and Goro barely manages to push himself upright before the door is banging open. A tall form pauses on the threshold, breathing heavily, and though the room and the hallway beyond are both dark, Shido’s frame is unmistakable.

“Archduke?” Goro pushes away from the window, squinting through the gloom. “What—”

“Hush, boy.” Shido strides into the room, his robe flapping behind him, and Goro recoils habitually, mind flashing to the dagger still strapped to his thigh under his robe as Shido looms over him without preamble, but a rough hand grabs him by the jaw before he can react. “How are you still alive?” Shido mutters to himself, dark eyes flashing in the cold light from the window as they scan Goro’s face.

“What are you doing?” Goro hisses. Shido’s skin is blistering against Goro’s and his grip is commanding, tightening as Goro tries to wrench away. “Unhand me!”

“You should be dead now.” Shido disregards his feeble struggles, seizing Goro by the arm with his other hand. “Something’s gone wrong.”

Unease roils in Goro’s chest. “_What_?”

“I suppose this will just have to do.” Shido releases his jaw and steps away, jerking Goro forward by the arm. “Come with me.”

“No—” Goro tries to resist, but he’s too weak, powerless in the face of Shido’s strength. “What is the meaning of this?” he demands even as he stumbles along with Shido’s pulling.

Shido shushes him again, dragging him across the room almost too quickly for Goro’s unsteady feet.

“I will not be treated like this!” Goro grabs the doorframe, summoning a buried thread of strength to resist Shido’s attempts to pull him into the hallway. “Release me!”

Shido rounds on him, fisting a hand roughly in his hair and Goro gasps as his head is bent back painfully. “Do _not_ make this difficult for me,” Shido snaps. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll come along like a good boy.”

Goro narrows his eyes. “Let me go, unless you want the whole Palace to hear you kidnapping your ailing son in the middle of the night.”

“Everyone is at the Lantern Banquet,” Shido leers, twisting his hand cruelly in Goro’s hair. “No one is around to hear you.”

The unease in Goro’s chest flickers into panic and he grabs at Shido’s wrist, the motion sending his shawl slipping off his shoulders. “What do you want with me? Will you not even allow me to die in peace?”

“It’s because you _won’t _die in peace that I must do this.” Shido yanks him into the hallway and he staggers, held up only by Shido’s grip. “So just bite your tongue and be useful for once in your life.”

Goro fixes Shido with the most furious glare he can muster. “After all I have done for you, this is how you treat me?” He wrenches at Shido’s arm. “Will you not grant me respect in my last moments?”

The hand around his throat stuns him silent and Shido bares his teeth, face inches away. “I saved you from a life on the _street_, boy—” he seethes, “—you are mine to treat as I please and I will spell you unconscious if you don’t cease this pathetic resistance.”

A shudder runs up Goro’s spine and his gloved fingers twitch toward his thigh. Shido’s attention is directed at his face, so if Goro manages to draw his dagger, perhaps he’ll have time to strike before—but if his strength fails him, he won’t get another chance. Even under normal circumstances, his magic is weaker than Shido’s, and now there’s no competition. He can’t risk a fight and give Shido the satisfaction of killing him here. So he reluctantly clenches his fist. “What do you want with me?”

Shido sneers. “You will know soon enough.” Then he sets off down the corridor, hauling Goro along with him.

The stones are cold against Goro’s bare feet as he struggles to keep upright, dragged relentlessly by the vice-like hand on his arm. Even walking to the window moments ago had exhausted him, and the brief flare of strength he found to oppose Shido withered quickly, leaving him staggering, the edges of his vision darkening. Shido pays no mind, tugging him along heedlessly.

As Shido said, the corridors are indeed empty. Goro didn’t even know there was still going to be a Lantern Banquet, in light of everything that happened, but the Fae of the Palace were likely eager for an excuse to escape the cold marble walls for a night, leaving no one around to see Goro’s plight.

Shido offers no explanation the entire stumbling journey and Goro can barely focus enough to register that they’ve left the residential section until the cool night air hits his already frigid skin.

“Where—” he pants, “—are you taking me?”

“You’ll see.”

When the bridge leading to the Central Palace comes into view, Goro freezes, dread snaking up his throat. “Why—”

A crackling bolt of magic spears through him and Goro cries out, legs buckling. Shido catches him around the waist and the world tilts dizzyingly as he’s slung over Shido’s shoulder. Instantly, he aims a kick into Shido’s gut, but another jolt of magic sears away his strength.

“Behave and I won’t have to hurt you,” Shido spits, hurrying onto the bridge.

Goro can only hang there, fuming, as Shido stalks through the King’s gardens and mounts the steps to the entrance hall.

There are no servants on duty tonight, and Shido’s quick footsteps ring hollowly on the marble floors. It doesn’t even seem like anyone bothered to light the lanterns, and what Goro can make out of the expansive halls leading to the throne room is dim, lit only by the glow of the stars through the windows.

When Shido seizes the handle to one of the massive throne room doors, Goro shoves at his back, trying to push himself up. “What are you—”

“Don’t speak.” A warning glitter of magic drifts across Goro’s vision and he grits his teeth as Shido rips the door aside and charges in.

“My King!” Shido’s voice echoes in the soaring hall. “I request an audience!”

“Archduke!” One of the attendants shouts, her words high and livid. “How dare you intrude in such a manner!”

Shido doesn’t falter, his steps long and even, and Goro once again attempts to push himself up.

“Halt!” The other attendant commands. “If you proceed—wait—”

“What are you—”

“Caroline, Justine.” Goro winces as the King’s voice crawls into his ears. “The Archduke clearly has important business with us.”

Shido stops abruptly and the world spins again before Goro finds himself dumped unceremoniously on the floor before the steps leading up the throne dais. Stunned, fighting for breath, Goro struggles to get his hands underneath himself as Shido speaks:

“Yes, my King. I apologize for my insolence, but this can wait no longer.”

Lifting his head, Goro catches sight of the King’s attendants, halfway down the steps and staring at him with identical expressions of bewilderment. Beyond that, the hazy form of the King is standing in front of his throne, and, as Goro watches, he drifts to the edge of the dais. Goro pushes himself up enough to take in the King’s full form and finds him looking back, face as blank as always.

The whole hall is lit only by a small swarm of floating lanterns gathered above the throne canopy, casting the rest of the room and everyone in it in half-shadows that fuzz and drip in Goro’s unsteady vision. The darkness slips further over the King’s features as he begins descending the steps.

“What have you brought me, Archduke?” he intones, regarding Goro intently.

Behind him, Shido’s shoes click on the marble, and then a hand in his hair is dragging Goro to his knees. “The Darkening,” Shido responds, pride lacing his voice.

The King hums a low note that digs into Goro’s bones and stays there. “So you know. Very clever, Archduke.”

“Please, my King. It was merely good fortune that I discovered your grand designs. Once I realized the Darkening was manufactured, I turned my attention to replicating it.”

The King steps off the final stair, bringing his buzzing, skittering magical aura into Goro’s orbit, and Goro feels it slide down his spine as the King leans over him assessingly. “I suspected the boy was not one of mine.”

“He is my first attempt,” Shido admits, yanking Goro’s head back further as though to put him on display for the King’s searching eyes. “I am still gaining an understanding of the magic, my King, but it is working. His magic ebbs from him and into my siphon.”

The King extends one hand, long, skeletal fingers uncurling as he reaches for Goro, and Goro flinches as his jaw is cupped almost gently. “I can see it,” the King rumbles, raking his burning gaze over Goro’s face. “I can see the curse working on him. It’s unstable and unpracticed, but competent.” He switches his gaze up, toward Shido. “For what reason have you done this?”

“To prove my worth, your highness,” Shido answers promptly. “I see your plans now, and I wish to aid you.”

Tilting his head, the King releases Goro’s face and straightens up. “You think that you can be of use to me?”

“I know I can, my King. With two casters, the Darkening will not only be more powerful, but more controllable.” Shido tosses Goro carelessly aside, and Goro hits the ground with a gasp, all of the pain that was numbed by the King’s overwhelming presence rushing back. “As it is, the disease will ravage the entire Kingdom within a year, but with my help—” Shido steps over Goro’s sprawled legs and spreads his hands supplicatingly before the King, “—we can ensure a constant power source for generations to come.”

From this angle, Goro can see the throne through the gap in the canopy curtains, but instead of being empty, the seat is occupied by something solid and glittering. Goro fights to push himself up, blinking the gathering darkness from his sight to get a better look. The gauzy light of the lanterns above gleams off the faceted surface of what seems to be a large crystal chalice.

“You speak of matters beyond your comprehension, Archduke,” the King is saying, and as he speaks, Goro spies Caroline and Justine shifting nervously. Their weapons are drawn, one wielding a short staff while the other sports two slim daggers, but neither seems sure what to do, regarding the scene with their inscrutable yellow eyes.

“I wish only to be of service to my King,” Shido assures, sickly sweet and entreating. “I know how—”

“You know nothing,” the King slices across his words, and the air in the room rots instantly, crashing like deadweight around Goro’s shoulders and forcing him back to the floor with a groan. “You know nothing of the lengths I have gone to for this power. The lives I have taken. You, with your feeble hundred years, are nothing but a drop of water in the ocean. I could crush you with a thought, and you presume to advise me on the power I have rewritten history to attain?”

“I meant no offense, my King.” Shido’s voice doesn’t waver, his cockiness never faltering, even in the face of the King’s ire. “I would never dream of undermining you, I merely believe I can be of assistance.”

Goro snorts.

Instantly, the beetles of the King’s gaze are upon him and he pushes himself upright on shaking arms despite the discomfort.

“Do you have something to say, little prince?” the King asks.

Goro takes a steadying breath. “If you believe the Archduke’s words, you are worse than a fool,” he manages. “He’s a liar and traitor who wishes only to leech your power.”

“Pay him no mind, your highness,” Shido says smoothly. “His words are merely the panicked bleating of a dying lamb.”

“I am beyond salvation, my King.” Painstakingly, Goro drags himself around to face the two men, tipping his head back to hold the King’s stare. “What would I have to gain by lying?”

“The weak always grow desperate in their final moments,” Shido hisses. “A drowning man will pull down those nearest him.”

“My king,” Goro continues, ignoring Shido, “how can you trust the loyalty of a man who sacrificed his only son and most devoted follower?”

The King narrows his eyes, glancing at Shido. “His words are not unwise, Archduke. How do you plead?”

Shido scoffs in affront. “All that I have done, I’ve done for you, my King!”

“The boy has been your loyal servant since you adopted him,” the King points out.

“Who better to serve as my test subject?”

“See how he repays loyalty,” Goro says. “He has no allies, only tools, and you, my King, may soon be one of them.”

“Bite your ungrateful tongue!” Shido snaps, rounding on Goro. A sharp kick to the chest sends Goro sprawling backward. “You are nothing but a snake, wasting your last breaths trying to drag me into your filth!”

Goro coughs around the new ache in his ribs, curling onto his side.

“He is just a jealous, spiteful child, your highness. He wore a pleasant mask for you and the Court, but his core has always been rotten. His words are meaningless.”

“Are those your true feelings, _father_?” Goro pants, cutting Shido a sideways look. “I had no idea.”

“If you are so determined to hasten your end, then I will oblige you,” Shido grinds out. “My King, allow me to demonstrate my control over the curse.”

The King waves a dismissive hand. “Very well, Archduke. Convince me of your worth.”

Grinning smugly, Shido reaches for his lapel and pulls his outer robe aside enough to reveal a glint of gold pinned to his tunic. “My siphon is much smaller, so my range is more limited than yours, your highness, but that makes my control more focused.” He taps the little glimmer.

The ice in Goro’s veins sharpens instantly, hooking savage claws into the tired magic still knitting his form together, and Goro gasps raggedly, screwing his eyes shut.

“In my research, I noted that the Darkening follows a distinct escalation curve—” Shido’s voice warbles through the stabbing fog, “—and I was shocked when I realized what the distribution pattern meant.”

“Don’t belabor your point, Archduke.”

“Apologies, my King, but you must imagine my surprise at the discovery that the epicenter of the curse must be in the Winter Kingdom. If you are the caster, that means—”

“Very good,” the King praises. “I trust you have kept this epiphany to yourself.”

“Of course, my King.”

Through the sickening ache of his magic being wrested from him, Goro sluggishly fits Shido’s words together, and his breath catches. “You—” he forces the word between his bared teeth, prying his eyes open, “—you did _this_ to the Unseelie?”

The King, towering above him, regards him down his nose. “The Fae of the Winter Kingdom were my first prey,” he affirms as though recounting the weather. “My testing ground.”

“And then—” the horror sinks deep, cloying in Goro’s chest, “—you sealed them away, trapped them with the monster you created—”

“Oh, child.” The King’s eyes flash. “The events that occurred two thousand years ago are far too complex for your simple mind to fathom. I only took what was mine by right.”

“You left them all to die—and now you plan to do the same to the Seelie—” gasping, Goro lifts himself up to meet the King’s cold stare. “You will destroy them too—and what will be left? Once you have gorged yourself on the magic of every Fae, will you rule over nothing?”

A freezing pulse courses through him and Goro collapses again, shuddering.

“Forgive me, my King—” Shido says quickly, “—I’ll silence him right away.”

Goro groans, clutching at his chest and flinching with each wave of draining agony.

This is different from the fits of weakness Goro has suffered the last few weeks—this is targeted and vicious, trapping Goro in his dimming mind as his magic is stolen, inch by intentional inch. Distantly, his skin prickles and crawls, and he can picture the Darkening marks vining farther down his limbs. They had already reached his left elbow and both of his knees; only a little more and his entire body will be a canvas of twisted black veins.

“—serviceable first choice—” Shido is saying, fading in and out, “—innately powerful, though his potential was never—”

The floor sways beneath him and Goro’s next breath comes as a strained rattle and he realizes this might be the end. He almost wants to laugh. Unbidden, Shido’s words from last week drift across his memory—

_This is the most useful you could have ever been to me_.

Now he understands what Shido truly meant. His worth never lay in his corpse, but rather how he became one.

As the numbness starts traveling from his fingertips up his arms, Goro takes solace in the fact that, at least, Akira isn’t here. It’s cold comfort, since the entire Kingdom is doomed to vanish into the magical reservoir of an unfeeling despot, but perhaps Akira will be able to return to Yongen before the inevitable—there are people there who are worried about him—

The sonorous _crash_ of shattering glass splits the air and spears right through the haze gathering in Goro’s head.

Shido’s swearing is almost lost in the ringing of glass striking the marble floor and instantly, the piercing cold loosens its grip. Goro drags in a desperate breath, slammed back into awareness by the stomp of multiple running footsteps and voices shouting—

Magic zings through the air, raising goosebumps on Goro’s arms, and Goro pries his eyes open, striving to push himself up and blinking away the film over his vision to see—

Akira, dark metal blades gleaming in his hands, rears back and kicks Shido hard in the chest, sending him flying backward into a golden pillar. Shido crumbles to the floor and is still.

Before Goro can react, two blue blurs launch themselves at Akira, weapons raised, but they’re intercepted by two familiar figures. Makoto deflects Caroline’s strike with a broadsword before swiping her leg under the smaller Fae’s feet, forcing her to leap away, while Haru Okumura slashes an axe in a broad arc, keeping Justine from rushing them.

Broken glass stretches around the dais like a sea of glittering gems, and Akira’s black cloak billows in the wind from the shattered skylight as he swings around and catches sight of Goro on the floor.

Goro stares back. “Akira—?”

Akira smiles, a feral glint of teeth. “I promised I’d be back, my prince.”

“So noble.” The King’s voice slithers between them. He’s unmoved since Goro saw him last, standing at the foot of stairs, turned away from Goro to face Akira. He spreads his arms and his attendants leap back to his side, crouched and ready. “And so kind, to return to me like this, little prisoner.”

“I’m ending this, Yaldabaoth.” Akira brandishes one of his blades and Makoto and Haru brace on either side of him. “The Faelands will be rid of your rot by sunrise.”

“I see you’ve turned two of my flock against me.” The King brings his hands back together, clasping them. “Children, if you renounce the Unseelie, you will be spared.”

“Shut up!” Makoto snaps. Her grip on her sword is steady and her stance is faultless. “We’re not interested in your mercy.”

Haru heaves her axe up to rest on her shoulder. “Yes, please stop talking. Unless you’re going to beg for your life.”

The King shakes his head. “The Unseelie’s influence is strong indeed. I will end this quickly.” He flicks a finger and a concentrated shimmer of magic blasts away from him.

Goro tenses, mouth open to call out, but Akira merely gestures with his blade and the air in front of him thickens, condensing instantly into a glittering shield. Yaldabaoth’s shot strikes the surface and scatters harmlessly in a spray of chromatic sparks.

As the glare clears, Goro catches sight of Akira’s intense gaze through the barrier. “That’s not going to work this time.”

“I see,” the King hisses. “So that’s how you got through the Barrier undetected.”

"You’ll have to get your hands dirty if you want to kill me.”

“As if I would waste my time on filth like you.”

On some silent signal, Justine and Caroline dash forward again, but, yet again, Makoto and Haru meet them, blades clashing with a series of metallic clangs.

Makoto wastes no time, parrying Caroline and striking viciously, barely giving the attendant a chance to raise her daggers between swift jabs. Her training is obvious in her perfect stance and tight, unyielding footwork. Caroline is quick and brutal, but the longer reach of Makoto’s sword and her relentless advance keeps her from landing a hit, falling back more and more into the center of the room as she darts around, trying to find an opening.

Haru keeps Justine at a distance, herding her away from Akira and into the open space of the hall with wide swings. She handles the heavy weapon with balletic ease, levering the weighty head into the floor just shy of Justine’s toes as she jumps back. The weight makes her slower than Makoto, but she doesn’t miss a beat when Justine lunges in, tilting the carved handle up and blocking Justine’s staff before using the planted axe as an anchor and catching the attendant with a spinning roundhouse kick to the back.

It quickly becomes obvious that the King’s attendants are well-matched, and Akira takes the King’s momentary distraction to dart forward, blades flashing.

Between one blink and the next, the King reaches into his flowing robes and then the scraping ring of metal on stone echoes in Goro’s ears. The force of the strike sends the King’s robes billowing and blows Goro’s hair back from his face as he stares in shock at the long sword now grasped in the King’s hand, blocking both of Akira’s daggers.

The shifting lantern glow ignites the blade, fiery orange light glinting inside the carved surface as it pushes outward, knocking Akira’s attack aside. Apparently the rumors about the King’s sun opal sword were more than just rumors.

Akira dodges the King’s instant attempt at retaliation, leaping nimbly away. His focus doesn’t waver, even in the face of the dangerous stone.

“If I must tear you apart myself, then so be it,” the King intones, brandishing the sword at his side. “Your simpering King couldn’t stop me; what makes you think you have a hope?”

“You’ve never faced a fair fight in your bloated life.”

“And you think this will be _fair_?”

For a split-second, Akira’s gaze cuts to Goro, then back, and he smirks up at the King. “Absolutely not.”

Goro’s breath leaves him in a shallow rush as the King’s sword slashes out again and Akira drops, avoiding the blade by inches before shooting forward.

Before Goro’s wavering vision, the scene dissolves into flashes of color and movement, Akira and the King dancing around each other too quickly for Goro to separate individual actions from the swimming, half-lit haze. He catches a flap of black fabric here, a glint of dark metal against bright stone there, with the light tap of Akira’s nimble footsteps playing on his ears like fingers on a harp. While the King’s massive figure strikes with devastating swiftness, Akira’s smaller size keeps him faster, until he’s nothing but a dark blur, ducking and weaving, drawing Yaldabaoth away from the dais.

Goro doesn’t know if Akira can defeat the King. He doesn’t know if Makoto and Haru can defeat the attendants. Given the shortness of his breath and the unstable lurch of the blood in his veins, Goro doesn’t even know if he’ll be alive long enough to find out. But he has to do something.

Straining to stay upright, Goro inches backward until his fingers hit the bottom step of the tiered dais, then he plants one hand on the raised surface and hauls himself up, keeping his eyes on the rest of the throne room.

Through the frantic swirling of the King’s robes and Akira’s cloak, he spots Makoto as she gets a lucky hit on Caroline, knocking her legs out from under her. Makoto wastes no time, lunging in for a decisive blow, but she can’t see Justine rushing up behind her, and Haru is desperately trying to free her axe from where it’s wedged six-inches deep in a golden pillar, leaving Makoto completely open—

Goro opens his mouth in warning, but before he can make a sound, a high-pitched _fwip_ splits the battle cacophony, and a glowing arrow lodges in Justine’s raised arm. She cries out, her momentum taking her to the ground, revealing a long-haired figure framed in the doorway.

“Makoto!” Sae yells, already drawing the bowstring again, a line of glittering magic solidifying between her hands.

Makoto, off-balance from Justine’s shout, spins to avoid Caroline’s retaliation, catching sight of her sister. “Sis!”

“Counselor Niijima!” Haru cheers, wrenching her axe free. “You came!”

Even from this distance, Goro can tell Sae’s expression is displeased. “What other choice did I have?” She fires again, forcing Caroline to jerk out of the way, but as the arrow sails past, it explodes outward in a burst of scorching sparks and Caroline shrieks in surprise.

Justine, holding her arm, staggers upright, just in time for Haru to run at her, chasing the attendant with her axe raised.

Despite her obvious reticence, Sae dives into the fray, magical arrows flying, and Goro barely catches the split-second glance she shares with Akira as he flips past her.

Hopeful that another ally will even the odds a bit, Goro forces himself to turn away from the action, grabbing the next step and dragging himself up on shaking arms. The broken glass from the window scrapes against his clothing with each labored pull, cutting into the bare skin of his feet when he scrabbles for purchase, but if he stops now, he may never move again. Above him, the strange chalice sparkles in the lantern light, and even with his dulled magical senses, Goro can feel the hum of power lacing the air around it, emanating in physical waves.

He can’t be sure what it is, but Akira’s words about the King collecting his stolen magic in a siphon scroll through his head, and Shido was obviously using his pin as a catalyst for the curse gripping Goro. The chalice draws in light, occupying the seat of the throne and the space around it with an oppressive, magnetic atmosphere that steals Goro’s breaths as he climbs closer. Whatever it is, it’s powerful and precious to the King, and if Goro can just reach it—

Sharp running footsteps barely give Goro enough warning to roll to the side and avoid the downward stab that clangs off the marble where he was half a heartbeat earlier.

Shaking his hair out of his eyes, Goro instinctively raises his arm to block the next strike, feeling the hard edge of a sword bite through his sleeve before he pushes out and knocks it away, and he catches sight of Shido looming over him, face twisted in rage. Before he can move, Shido raises his leg and stomps hard on his chest, pinning him against the stairs, and Goro grunts, grabbing at Shido’s ankle.

“You ungrateful little hex,” Shido spits, grasping the hilt of his sword. “I should have left you to fester in that orphanage, but I thought you could be worth something someday. I gave you everything and when you finally have a chance to be useful, you betray me!”

Goro gasps, unable to expand his ribs for a proper breath. “I—I danced on your strings for _years_—never questioning—jumping at your every order—what more could I give?”

“Your life!” Shido thrusts down, and Goro, fuelled by some final, desperate sprint of strength, throws himself to the side, into Shido’s other leg, without releasing Shido’s ankle.

Shido pitches forward and, legs tangled, hits the steps with a _thud_, cursing as his sword clatters out of his hand. Frantically shoving away from him, Goro drags himself up another level, blood pounding in his ears almost loud enough to mask the shouting and crashing of the fights behind him. He can’t turn around, he can’t stop, the chalice is still glimmering on the throne, just a few more steps away—

A crushing kick to his side tears a cry from his throat, pain lancing mercilessly through his overtaxed body, and he can’t resist as Shido seizes him by the hair and flings him onto his back again, kneeling over him this time. His eyes are livid, boring into Goro with searing hatred.

“You—” he seethes, wrapping his hands around Goro’s throat, “—and that Unseelie dog, and all of those filthy traitors will die tonight. No one will stand in the way of my destiny.”

Goro grabs Shido’s wrist with one hand, his other groping through the trailing folds of his own outer robe. “You—you think the King will respect you—” he chokes, returning Shido’s deranged gaze with as much steel as he can summon, “—but he will suck you dry and cast you aside—”

“I’m different from the likes of you!” Shido tightens his grip, pressing Goro into the unyielding ridges of the stairs. “I’m worthy!”

“You’re _nothing_—” Goro digs his gloved fingertips into Shido’s arm. “Wake up! We’re all insects to him! You’re not—” he breaks off, mouth gaping soundlessly as his air is cut.

“I am the _only_ one worthy of this power! Soon, even the King will kneel before the new ruler of the Seelie!”

Head spinning, Goro’s fingers slip off the hilt of his dagger once before he manages to curl his hand around the familiar shape. The way it contours perfectly into his grasp sparks the hungry burn of his Combat Art to life deep in his weary muscles, lending him enough fire to rip the weapon from its holster and swing his arm upward.

He’s imagined how it would feel to sink his blade into Shido’s Heart more times than can be counted, pictured the splitting of fabric and skin and magic as he carves the man out of his life like a cancerous growth, coached himself not to flinch at the meaty jolt of metal meeting flesh, gone over and over it—some nights, he would close his eyes and see his target, constantly out of reach, taunting him, and then—after all of his preparation and scheming and waiting—it’s done.

The blade of Goro’s dagger hits home just under the curve of Shido’s right ribs, sinking into him with only the barest resistance of flesh and muscle.

Shido jerks, eyes going wide, and his grip on Goro’s neck slackens.

Goro gulps in a reedy breath, grinding the dagger deeper. It’s unnecessary; he could find Shido’s Heart by touch alone and he knows his aim was true, but a vindictive sliver of glee darts through him at the way Shido’s mouth drops open in shock.

Stiffly, Shido looks down at himself just as the first stream of blood trickles past the hilt, dripping onto the leather of Goro’s gloves. The blood is tainted with tiny glowing flecks.

“You—” Shido lurches upright, pulling the dagger out of Goro’s flagging grip as he goes, and hovers a trembling hand over his abdomen. “You—how—how could you—” More blood oozes around the blade, streaming down Shido’s elegant robes, glittering with light that grows and intensifies until it’s beaming from the wound itself.

Goro squints against the glare, inching backward as Shido wobbles on his knees, staring uncomprehendingly down at the dagger.

“How did you—know—” Suddenly, Shido’s head whips up, fixing Goro with a vacant, demented expression, and he wraps a hand around the dagger, yanking it free with a wet sucking sound.

Goro can’t move back fast enough to avoid the hand that fists in his robe, his brief flare of strength exhausted, and Shido teeters over him, dagger clutched in his shaking hand, light and blood flowing freely from his wound.

“Of course—that—that must be it—” Shido grates, teeth bared, red seeping over his lips. “You think—I don’t know who you are, boy?” A hysterical giggle bubbles out of him and a thrill of terror races down Goro’s spine.

But it’s too late to help him avoid the dull, icy pain punching into his abdomen.

A scream crawls up Goro’s throat and he presses his lips together against it, breath stalling as he glances down at the hilt of his own dagger protruding just under his right ribs.

For a beat, he can only stare, time suspended, cold little fingers creeping outward from the wound.

Then he sucks in a shuddering breath, the halting movement of his chest sending blood welling up around the blade. Deep scarlet spreads across the front of his robe in a slowly widening circle. Scarlet. And nothing else.

Shido falters, fingers sliding off the dagger hilt. “H—how—”

“Bad luck, father.” A strained laugh hisses between Goro’s teeth. “I have my mother’s Heart.”

The light oozing from Shido’s abdomen shimmers and he groans. Goro kicks out, catching Shido in the gut, and the Archduke falls backward, striking the stairs without struggle as his magic hemorrhages, burning away his true form in a catastrophic cascade of internal failure. Given Shido’s power reserves, it will take a few minutes, but he’s a dead man, his eyes already blank and sightless as he slides limply down the steps to lie still on the marble floor.

Sparing the corpse a last withering glance, Goro twists around and grabs the edge of the final step. On numb arms, he heaves himself onto the dais and starts the torturous crawl toward the throne.

Every movement grinds the dagger deeper in his abdomen, a thick, throbbing pain wrapping around his lungs, but Goro doesn’t dare try to pull it out. Even if Shido guessed wrong about his Heart, the wound is grievous, and removing the blade would only make him bleed out faster without his normal magic reserves to heal him. And the hectic clamor of the fight swelling behind him indicates he doesn’t have the time anyway.

The throne itself is elegant in a simplistic way, molded of radiant gold, with arms and back carved like twining tree branches, matching the pillars suspending the gauzy canopy that usually hides the throne from sight. It’s taller than a normal chair to account for the King’s height, so Goro has to strain when he reaches up to seize one of the arms.

Strangely, his legs don’t shake as he drags himself upright, and the weakness that’s held him captive the past weeks sits distantly in his body now. He’s pushed himself beyond all endurance at this point, and he can feel the clock ticking down, but before that, he’s _going_ to see this through.

Swallowing back the blood in his mouth, Goro lurches forward and seizes the chalice. It’s warm to the touch and humming, pulsing rhythmically between his hands, and when he lifts it from the seat of the throne, the lantern glare slides off the glassy facets, revealing shifting, opalescent veins of color deep inside the crystalline surface. The cup itself is the size of a large bowl, and it’s empty, but Goro doesn’t think that’s the reason for its surprising lightness. As soon as it separates from the throne, Goro feels that same magnetism from earlier latch onto him, drawing him in, almost like the chalice wants him to hold it.

Even Goro’s depleted magical senses can tell that whatever this thing is, it’s powerful, swollen and thrumming with magic, but, like Shido’s siphon was just a pin, it’s just a cup. Precious and crystalline. Fragile.

A strangled cry, rising above the ambient discord, yanks him out of his contemplation and he jerks around, clutching the chalice.

One of Akira’s daggers gleams as it strikes the marble, bouncing once with a clang before skidding to a halt below Yaldabaoth, who hoists Akira’s struggling form off the floor by his neck. Akira whips his other dagger up, but a rapid blow from the King’s sword knocks that one out of his hand as well, leaving Akira defenseless with the edge of the sun opal sword poised under his jaw.

“Akira!” Makoto shouts, panting. She, Haru, and Sae have an exhausted Caroline and Justine corralled between them, but when she starts toward the King, Akira holds out a hand.

“Don’t—” he chokes out. Even from this distance, Goro can see the fire in his eyes, never straying from the King even as a thin stream of smoke rises from where the sword is pressed to his skin.

“There’s no use in nobility now,” the King taunts, lifting Akira higher with seemingly no effort. “You will all die here tonight.”

Goro takes a breath to call out, but the motion scrapes the dagger against the bottom of his ribs, and he coughs instead, knuckles going white around the chalice as drops of blood land in the glistening bowl. The effect is the same, however—the King snaps his attention to the dais, and when Goro’s vision clears, he can make out Akira’s stricken expression over the King’s hand.

“You—” The King’s face almost looks panicked as his sword hand shoots out toward him, a shimmer of magic blasting out of the blade tip, but before Goro can even start to brace, the air in front of him swirls together, meeting the attack with an ear-popping crash.

The King’s magic scatters around the shield, beaming into the walls and floor and the cast-off wind whips Goro’s hair around his head, but when the radiance fades, Goro is untouched, and the King’s eyes widen. He refocuses on Akira, who grins crookedly, grabbing at the King’s wrist.

“You can’t touch him,” Akira manages through his teeth. “My barrier magic is too strong.”

The King swings the sword back to Akira’s throat. “Then I will kill you swiftly.”

“Stop.” Goro’s voice is quiet but steady as he raises the chalice. “If you hurt him, I’ll shatter it.”

Outwardly, the King doesn’t react, but he also doesn’t slit Akira’s throat, and his yellow eyes dart back to Goro. “Don’t be foolish, little prince. Breaking the cup will do nothing.”

"Then go ahead and stab him."

The King doesn't move, a frozen pillar of flowing robes, with Akira's dark figure dangling from one hand.

Goro glances between him and the others, taking in the haggard states of Makoto, Sae, Haru, and the attendants, the scuffs and scorch marks marring the previously pristine marble throne room. Akira is bleeding from a wound on his temple and his eyes flash when Goro meets them.

“What happens if I break this?” Goro asks, gesturing with the chalice.

“It’s his siphon!” Akira calls hoarsely. “Destroying it will—” his words die on a choked gasp as the King visibly tightens his grip around Akira’s throat.

“Destroying it will cut off his magic supply!” Makoto finishes for him, taking a stumbling step toward the dais but not daring to remove her sword from under Justine’s chin. “That’s how he collects the magic the Darkening steals—without it, he’ll be a normal Fae!”

“Lies.” The King’s voice is cold, bleeding ice in the air around him, but his gaze is narrow and shifty. Nervous. “My power is not nearly so tenuous.”

“Akechi, smash it!” Haru yells.

“Stop!” There’s no magic behind the command, but the sharp force stabs through Goro anyway, dragging his attention to the King’s burning stare. He’s wearing the most expression Goro has ever seen on his wide, blank face, mouth turned down around bared teeth. “Do not resign your life so easily.”

Goro’s arms falter, letting the chalice drop a few inches. “What?”

Akira is struggling again, clawing at the King’s hand, but the King ignores him, attention fixed wholly on Goro and sending the familiar insect legs skittering up his spine. “You are indeed beyond salvation, little prince,” he rumbles. “The Archduke was a fool, but his paltry attempts at replicating my curse stole more from you than you can ever recover. At your height, that wound would not have been fatal, but you are too diminished.”

As he speaks, a flicker of motion catches Goro’s eye and he darts a look over at the other group in time to see Sae, farthest back with her bow trained on the twins, start slowly edging to the side. Everyone is facing Goro, leaving her unacknowledged as she creeps silently toward one of Akira’s fallen blades. Goro flits his focus back to the King and meets Akira’s eyes.

“—no Healing can save you now,” the King finishes, voice buzzing through the entire hall.

Goro cradles the chalice closer to his chest, avoiding contact with his wound. The entire front of his robes is warm with spreading blood. “That’s obvious.”

“But my power is beyond that of any living Fae.” The prickling touch of the King’s gaze sharpens, calcifying into hands gripping Goro’s bones, prodding meaningfully at the dagger embedded in his stomach. “I can save you.”

“Why would you bother?” Goro demands.

“Don’t listen to him Akechi!” Makoto yells, but Goro ignores her, focusing all of his waning strength on holding the King’s stare.

A smug tilt relaxes the King’s panicked snarl. “I did not lie to you, child. You would serve wonderfully at my side.”

Goro takes a stabilizing breath. “What makes you think that?”

“Your father’s ambition made him blind, but you are not as mired in the hunger for power. You are intelligent enough to see the truth and naturally gifted enough to rise above your unfortunate beginnings. With my guidance, you could rule the Summer Kingdom.” The King narrows his eyes. “I could even give you the strength to protect those you care about.”

In the corner of his vision, Goro spies Sae kneeling down, slowly, steadily, reaching for Akira’s dagger.

“What do you mean?” Goro asks, injecting a beat of hestition into his words.

The King’s smile widens like the creep of blood across Goro’s clothes. “You’re so fond of this little spider—” he shakes Akira like one would shake a naughty kitten, and the motion presses the sun opal harder against Akira’s neck with a dry sizzle, “—join me, and I will grant him to you. His life will be yours.”

“I’m supposed to believe that you’d let a threat like him live?”

“This coup has all been nothing more than a series of avoidable coincidences,” the King says dismissively. “Hubris on my part. Rest assured, now that I know the Unseelie’s tricks, I can keep him well-controlled.” His gaze roves up and down Goro’s frame. “Now come, little prince. You don’t have time to deliberate. Prove yourself more worthy than your father and relinquish the cup.” He smiles, blinding and full of teeth. “You need not die this empty death.”

Goro doesn’t dare let his attention stray from the King, even as the collapsing stars of Akira’s eyes pierce him from meters away and Sae’s grey figure freezes in his periphery. His shredded breath catches wetly in his chest and he can taste the blood on his lips as he smiles back.

Then Goro raises his arms and hurls the chalice at the floor.

With a musical _crash_, the cup erupts in glittering splinters, jagged fragments skittering across the dais and cascading down the steps as a brilliant, singing light flashes across Goro’s vision, a shrieking buzz filling his ears before morphing into twin, high-pitched screams.

“Akira!” Sae’s voice yells and Goro forces his eyes open in time to see her fling Akira’s blade toward him.

He catches it deftly in mid-air as the King reels and twists his body, kicking away the sun opal sword and levering his weight directly at the King’s chest.

Roaring in fury, the King overbalances, and Akira follows through, landing hard on top of him in a swirl of black fabric as his towering form collides with the marble floor. Before the King can raise a hand to defend himself, Akira swings the dark, gleaming blade directly into his throat.

A dull, wet _thud_ cuts through the room, silencing the piercing shrieks.

For a beat, the only sound in Goro’s head is the rush of his pulse.

A glimmer of light beams around Akira’s blade.

“Get back!” Goro shouts, stumbling.

Akira pushes himself up, arcing into a back handspring before spinning on his heel and sprinting for the dais as the light erupts in a geyser behind him. A screeching roar fills the air and Goro catches sight of the others scrambling for cover, dragging a seemingly catatonic Justine and Caroline behind a column, before Akira’s dark, solid shape slams into him, carrying them both to the floor just as the light overflows.

A searing, buzzing wave crashes over them, but the familiar hum of Akira’s magic unfolds around them, buffering the stabbing force, and Akira clutches him fiercely, braced protectively over Goro’s body. Goro can only blink breathlessly at the blinding illumination blasting above him, Akira’s curls tickling his cheek.

He can’t summon the energy to hold Akira back.

The light rings in his head, stealing everything but the pressure of Akira on top of him, and Goro’s grown so cold that the brush of Akira lips against his jaw burns.

As his eyes slide closed against the light, Goro misses the chill.

* * *

“—prince, Goro—please—”

Hands on his face, dragging him out of the leaden fog, but they can’t shake the darkness.

“Akira, I don’t think—”

“Goro!”

He sucks in a shallow, freezing breath and the motion startles the ache in his bones and the stab wound in his abdomen out of their distracted numbness, sending pain ricocheting through him like scattered marbles, each strike igniting anew.

“Oh, suns—”

“Akechi!”

“Goro!” The hands on his face cup under his jaw.

He forces his lips to move: “Akira….”

“I’m right here—I’m—” Akira sounds frantic, hoarse and tripping over himself. “We did it, my prince—you—you—”

Yes. That’s right. The King is dead. The Archduke is dead. The curse of the Darkening will be lifted. “They’re—gone—” Goro mumbles.

Thumbs sweep over his cheekbones. “It’s over,” Akira whispers. “It’s over, my prince, so please—”

“Akira….” Sae’s voice sounds hesitant, and through the symphony of pain, Goro can just barely make out a gentle touch assessing his wound. “This is...the King was right….”

“Goro, can you open your eyes?”

The desire to see Akira one last time grants him the strength to blink his eyes open.

Akira is hovering over him, framed in pale light. The golden glow of the lanterns is gone, leaving only the sky past the shattered window to illuminate Akira’s sterling gaze, to crown his head with starlit thorns. “There,” he breathes. “Please, never stop looking at me.”

If Goro had a choice, he would never look away. He’d keep looking forever.

“You’re going to be okay,” Akira continues, hushed.

Goro searches his face. “Akira.” The word is more movement than sound.

“I promised. You are not going to die.” Akira’s thumbs sweep over his cheekbones again, carving two scorching paths. “I promised.”

“—too late—” Goro gasps. The sudden flare of agony is settling back into a heavy, stable haze, weighing his eyelids down again. “Can’t—”

“No—” Akira’s grip tightens. “Goro, please—”

“Akira.” Makoto this time, quiet. “There’s nothing we can do.”

Goro’s eyes dip closed against Akira’s stricken expression and he hears the soft click of Akira’s teeth gritting.

“No—_no_—” he whispers fervently, one hand smoothing Goro’s bangs aside. “I’m not losing you.”

“—can’t save everyone—” Goro murmurs. “—did this—to myself—”

“Stop.”

“—sorry….” Goro’s voice slurs into nothing. The numbness creeps back in, crawling up his spine into his head.

“My prince, please—just—” Akira makes a strained sound deep in his throat and the hand on Goro’s forehead pauses. “I’m sorry—I’m sorry, I have to—” The hand vanishes and Goro vaguely feels Akira sit back. “Haru, bring me that cord—” he barks.

“What?”

“Akira, why—?”

“Do it. Counselor, help me pull this out.”

Goro senses motion around him in a floating, detached way before a sharp bolt of agony lances through him from the wound on his stomach and a warm rush of blood pulses across his front as the hand still on Goro’s face strokes soothingly over his cheek.

“What are you doing?” Makoto demands, sounding horrified.

“The wound can’t be blocked when it starts healing.”

“Healing? What in both suns are you talking—”

“Here, Akira,” Haru says tremulously.

“Wait.” Makoto’s voice goes cold. “You’re not thinking—”

“Counselor, use this to stem the bleeding.” Akira’s hand finally leaves his face, giving him no mooring against the sudden surge of pain from his abdomen that sends him spinning further into the muffled darkness.

Then someone is moving his arm. It’s dull and distant, barely registering as Goro sinks deeper and deeper into himself.

“—Akira, stop! It’s too late!”

The voices around him fade in and out, words drifting to the surface, shrill and panicked.

“—nothing can be—”

“—suicidal! If you—”

“—kill you both—”

Lips beside his ear. “I have to take your glove off, my prince. Forgive me.”

Then cool air caresses his left hand, his glove gone, and the instinctive anxiety swells nauseatingly in his gut, but his body is useless, motionless against the marble floor, and before the nervous lurch dies away, fingers lock with his.

A weak gasp falls from his lips as his Touch sluggishly latches on to Akira’s magic and the familiar light blazes into him.

“_I’m sorry—”_ He feels the words more than hears them, as physical as the pressure winding up his arm, “_—I’m sorry, my prince—”_

_Akira bends low over Goro, pressing their clasped hands between them, every motion sending heat and light through their connection, and Goro can see his own ashen, bloodstained face filling his vision, unfocused and shifting. Everything blurs into smudges of glittering color, then snaps back into clarity._

_Goro struggles to draw a thready breath and the answering pain_—reels him back into his body and his hand twitches, before Akira’s squeezes tighter and draws a deeper, steadier breath—_that fills his lungs with liquid warmth._

_His mouth opens and Akira’s voice comes out— “Trust me one last time, my prince,” he says, pressing his forehead to his own freezing brow._

_Another breath, in through Akira’s mouth—_out through Goro’s and it hitches wetly, blood pooling at the back of his throat. In the darkness of his head, Akira’s true form blazes, coursing through him with each reedy heartbeat, consuming and desperate.

“My prince.” Akira’s words come from inside and outside all at once. “Do you love me?”

Goro wants to laugh. If the ice in his chest wasn’t so heavy, he would. _As if you can’t tell—_he shoves across their connection. He can feel Akira’s Touch twining with his, learning the shape of his true form with careful fingers, brushing the failing, shivering core of his magic with reverence. Here, at the end, with his magic nearly gone and his life draining away like water through a sieve, his love for Akira is all that’s left.

“I need to hear it.”

Goro breathes out and _Akira breathes in, gripping Goro’s hand so hard Goro can feel him shaking. The others are talking, trying to get his attention, but he just closes his eyes, brushing his nose against Goro’s—_

Light flickers behind Goro’s closed eyelids. “Yes,” he murmurs. “I love you.” The ghost of a smile drifts from the words—_onto Akira’s face, the corner of his lips turning up. “Fool,” he hears himself rasp._

_“My prince—” Akira exhales against his mouth, the light seeping up from their joined hands as seeking tendrils of magic vine around their arms—_

“I love you.”

Something stabs into Goro’s Heart, burning and claiming, cleaving to his fading magic with a ferocity that scrapes a scream—_out of Akira’s throat, pain blossoming in his stomach and seeping hotly across his front, but he clings tighter to Goro’s hand, sucking in a breath through his teeth—_that tastes like blood and light and Goro coughs it back out—_a wave of leaden darkness threatens the edges of Akira’s mind_—and Goro sways with it, reaching for the searing glow of Akira’s Heart—_but everything is slipping, the world tilting beneath him, dizzying_—trembling fingers skim the edges of Akira’s luminous core and heat shatters through Goro’s body—

_Akira breathes in and _Goro breathes out, dissipating into nerveless, wavering light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the final chapter is coming soon!
> 
> come see me on [tumblr](https://mistresseast.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/MistressEast)! i'm always happy to answer questions or just chat!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The future looms, vast and glittering as the night sky.

Goro blinks awake to stars and Akira’s voice.

Above him, the unmistakable spread of the True Night is almost too dazzling, thousands of gems blurring together into a sea of glittering light, and for an insane, dizzy second, Goro wonders if all those old myths about Fae being reborn as stars after death are true. Floating in an infinite sky, senseless and glowing, steeped in memories of the world left behind.

“—and Satanael at the southern tip, the first Unseelie. He’s only visible in winter, but when he’s in the sky, even the Suns can’t hide him—”

But Goro doesn’t remember these words. And when a pale hand sways into his field of vision, blocking a spidery swath of stars as it traces an invisible line between two luminous dots, Goro breathes back into his physical body, awareness rushing in to fill him like an aching tide. Pain peaks inside him, flaring just under his right ribs, but it’s distant, separated from Goro by a film, and as he comes back to himself, the pointed agony flattens and ebbs through his limbs, settling in as a muted, manageable simmer.

Akira’s hand spreads to gesture broadly at a dense cluster of stars, and the cool light catches the edges of a thick, white band mottling his skin. It winds up his fingers and down his wrist, disappearing into his sleeve, and Goro’s heart leaps.

As the dull, encompassing pain floods down his arms, Goro’s fingers twitch, and he drags his muscles into motion, gaze fixed on the hand above him. The light leather of his glove contrasts sharply with the dark fabric of Akira’s robe as he grasps weakly at Akira’s sleeve, and Akira’s murmuring cuts off on a gasp.

Before Goro can react, his hand is being grabbed and a distinctive tousled head is leaning over him, expression hidden in shadow but for the faint gleam of his eyes.

“Goro?” Akira whispers, and something on the edge of Goro’s magic warbles in response, lighting up with a familiar unwarm glow.

The luminous presence washes through him, driving strength into his limbs, and he shoves himself upright, ignoring how the effort throbs painfully throughout his body.

Akira leans back hastily to avoid knocking their heads together, hands fluttering. “Wait—”

Goro cuts Akira off by curling his fingers into his collar and shaking him with as much vigor as he can summon. “Are you insane?” he hisses right into Akira’s shocked face. “What were you thinking?”

Akira wraps his hands around Goro’s wrists. “My prince—”

“Are all Unseelie as brainless as you are?” Goro jostles Akira again. “It’s a miracle we’re both alive right now, do you understand that?”

“Yes, my prince, please—”

“What in both suns could have possessed you to do something so _dangerous_—?” Goro breaks off at the look on Akira’s face. “What? What’s wrong?”

Akira shakes his head, the wet glitter of his eyes catching the starlight, and he releases Goro’s wrists in favor of sliding his hands down Goro’s arms, lingering along the fabric of his sleeves, feather-light and hesitant. “You’re awake.”

“Clearly.”

“You’re—” Akira draws in a trembling breath, hands dipping to Goro’s waist before he sinks forward, gathering Goro to his chest with a slow, helpless pressure, and Goro goes without protest. “You’re awake,” Akira repeats into Goro’s shoulder, his hair brushing Goro’s cheek, sounding dazed. “You’re okay.”

Frowning, Goro releases his grip on Akira’s collar and slides his arms around Akira’s neck. “Surely you of all people had to know I wasn’t dead.”

“It’s been—a month.” Akira’s hands splay on Goro’s back, two spindly brands. “And you came so close...even if the Bonding saved you, we had no way to know if you were lost in some other way.”

Setting aside his initial shock at hearing how long he’s apparently been unconscious, Goro lets himself lean into Akira. “You could have checked.”

Akira goes rigid against him and pulls back, withdrawing his embrace before Goro even realizes what’s happening. “No, my prince,” he says, averting his gaze. “I would never Touch you without your permission.”

Goro frowns as Akira slips out of his hold. Drawing his arms into himself, he searches Akira’s tense posture. “Well, that’s very gallant of you, but I wasn’t exactly in a position to be asked.”

“That’s precisely why—” Akira breaks off, pressing his lips together. “Anyway, my prince, we should go downstairs.” He starts to push himself up. “The others will be relieved to see you awake. Ann in particular has been very worried.”

At the mention of Ann, Goro’s stomach swoops, and he takes Akira’s offered hand quickly. “Is she well?” he asks, allowing Akira to pull him to his feet. Legs weak, he sways, before Akira’s hand on his waist steadies him. A soft chime rings in his ear from the motion and he reaches up, fingers meeting the cool metal shape of a small decorative bell hanging in his hair.

“She is nearly completely recovered,” Akira answers. He keeps his eyes to the side, watching Goro feel along the little braid woven in his hair above the bell, and his grip on Goro feels stiff.

“Good.” Relief settles warm in Goro’s chest. “Were she to die….” he trails off, shaking the thought from his head and releasing the braid as he glances around. The domed window he woke up to was instantly recognizable, of course, but their location doesn’t really register until he takes in the sight of the brassy instruments and defunct telescope. “Why are we in the Celestial Tower?”

Akira pulls away, stepping back and leaving the space between them cold. “I brought you here, my prince.”

Goro eyes him, puzzled by his behavior. Normally, Akira takes any excuse to touch him. “Why?”

It’s hard to tell through the gloom, but Goro thinks he sees a blush blooming on Akira’s cheeks. “I...I didn’t want you to miss another True Night because of me.”

The presence on the periphery of Goro’s magic shivers nervously and his heart skips. “Akira—”

“It was impudent of me, my prince,” Akira continues in a rush, ducking his head, “and very selfish. I’ll return you to your room at once. You should be resting.”

“I think I’ve had quite enough resting,” Goro objects, brows furrowed. He reaches out to lay his hand on Akira’s arm, but Akira shifts away. Irritation prickles hotly up the back of Goro’s throat. “What is the matter with you?” he challenges, curling his rejected hand into a fist. “I’ve never seen you so meek! Am I really more frightening than the King?”

Akira’s eyes dart to his before dropping again. “No, my prince—”

“Then why won’t you look at me?”

Again, the presence tightens, sending threads of anxiety along their connection, but Akira doesn’t respond, standing rigidly before Goro.

Goro grits his teeth. “Is the sight of me truly this repulsive?”

When he still doesn’t answer, Goro glances down at Akira’s left hand, clenched at his side. He can just make out the pale etch of the Bonding scar on Akira’s bleached skin, and the irritation sinks heavily into his stomach, solidifying and cracking with a sick lurch. “You regret it.”

Akira twitches, jerking his head up. “What?”

“I can’t believe I—” A bitter laugh cuts into his words. “To think, I actually thought you did it out of _love_.”

The rupturing ice in Goro’s gut shoots along their tether, bleeding into Akira’s features as dawning confusion.

“But I suppose I can’t blame you—” Goro scoffs, raising his own hands to tug at his left glove. The slide of the soft leather sends little sparks across his skin. “It’s not like you had much of a choice.”

“What are you—”

Goro whips the glove free of his fingers and holds his hand up to the light. The gleam of the stars breaks over the thick white band crossing the back of his hand, slithering up his fingers, down his wrist. It’s wider than a scar caused by a traditional Bonding cord would be, haphazard and crooked, nothing like Ann’s neat, vining lines or Ohya’s careful, long-healed rows. Goro’s memories of those last moments are hazy, tangled up in pain and Akira’s consciousness, but anyone looking at the scar would be able tell the Bonding was done quickly, in a panic, probably with the rope from the canopy surrounding the throne, not between two devoted lovers planning to spend the rest of their lives together. A grim smile rises to Goro’s mouth at the sight. “But really—” he mutters, “—what were you thinking?”

Akira stares at Goro’s hand, face stricken.

“If this is how you react, then it would have been better to let me die,” Goro spits. “I don’t want to be chained forever to someone who resents me.”

“Resent you?” Akira echoes blankly, and a sliver of alien alarm traces into Goro through their connection.

“I understand why you did it, of course, but your guilt is completely misplaced.” Closing his fist, Goro pulls his arm protectively into his chest. “I was ready to take responsibility for my mistakes.”

Akira shakes his head slightly, eyes still fixed on Goro’s hand, mouth slack.

“Or was it pressure from your cohorts?” Goro sneers. “They must have tried to stop you—but you couldn’t resist one more heroic act, as stupid as it was—”

“What?” Finally, anger flickers behind Akira’s gaze. “How can you think that?”

“What else can I think?” Goro demands. “You’re clearly unhappy with how things turned out—I can feel your regret like a stone in my chest—” Goro swallows hard. “And I’ll feel it for the rest of my life because your _pity_ overwhelmed your reason!”

Horror spikes across their Bond and Goro flinches.

“Like that!” His voice pitches up shrilly as he glares into Akira’s ashen face. “You’ve doomed us both to a lifetime of that!” A manic giggle bubbles out of him. “But I’m not being very grateful, am I? I should be—prostrating myself before you for saving my life! Would that make you feel better? Would that—” his scarred hand flattens over his heart, pressing hard against the rapid wingbeats and the intangible grief curling between his ribs, “—make me worth it?”

Akira stares, a statue before Goro’s trembling figure, and the silence between them twists like a knife.

The jolt of Goro’s teeth clicking together in his mouth pounds through his head. His own hand burns through the layers of his robes, imprinting painfully on his sternum, and he sucks in a sharp breath.

But before he can step back, Akira severs their staring match by bowing his head, and Goro watches blankly as he sinks to his knees with a controlled sort of yielding, every muscle visibly collapsing until he’s knelt before Goro almost penitently. It’s a familiar position, one that brings memories of a stuffy cabin enclosed by storms and secrets, of desperate mouths and consuming heat, and a parallel rush pierces through Goro as Akira raises one hand, palm up—asking.

Goro looks down at him, and his eyes catch on Akira’s scars, lucent in the glow of the stars.

Jaw tightening, Goro seals his lips against the barrage of questions and demands that clogs his throat and haltingly peels his hand off of his chest, hovering it over Akira’s: bare, scarred skin inches from bare, scarred skin. An uneasy fever prickles across their Bond, drumming up and down Goro’s spine, impossible to read, but Akira is giving him the choice. A way to know for sure.

Goro brushes their fingers together.

* * *

_Ice burrows under his skin, corroding the reaching tendrils of his magic faster than the light singing between them can sear it away, and he gasps, clutching blindly._

_Something tries to drag him away but it’s impossible. He can’t leave. He can’t let go. The freezing, bare skin enclosed in his hand is his only anchor—the only thing that’s real—but he’s fading, sinking away—and the pull is stronger—_

“No—don’t—”_ Whose voice? His? His throat aches like its speaking— _“Don’t take him from me—please—”

“—Healers are here, we have to—”

“Akira, come on—”

“Please—” _he hisses. _“I—I have to—”

“Akira, your wound—”

“—can’t hear us—”

_Someone pries his fingers loose and the loss of contact rots inside him._

“No!”_ A desperate breath scrapes into his decaying lungs as his anchor slips away. _“No—please—please—”

“Let him go—”

_The hands on him vanish and he lurches forward, grabbing mindlessly for that persistent, shivering light. The ice creeps and takes, but _as his tired magic melts into Goro’s, Akira buries his face in the crook of Goro’s neck and folds into the Bond kindling between them.

* * *

Everyone wants to talk to him.

The truth is out and the Court is in shambles and the others try to keep it from him but even through the drifting haze Akira can hear the constant clamor outside the Healing Tower, Nobles and Counselors vying for a chance to speak to the man who ruined everything. They say _saviour_. They mean _plague_.

But he’s in no shape to hold audience, the Healers insist, and every time he opens his eyes, another worried face is hovering over him. Makoto and Sae get the same wrinkle between their brows when they’re upset and Haru’s voice is firm even as she drips tears.

“I’ve written to your family in Yongen,” she informs him. “And the Healer you asked for.”

Akira can’t find his words to thank her but she smiles weakly anyway.

“Don’t worry about anything. We’ll handle the Court. You need rest.” Her wet eyes cut down, to the gently-breathing weight settled on Akira’s chest. “You both need rest.”

Sae murmurs something but Akira doesn’t catch it, floating back into the dissonant current.

* * *

“—sorry, but I’m just—so he’s not dying?”

Sojiro’s voice is gruff and unmistakable, floating through the leaden fog and bringing a swoop of warmth. Akira can’t summon the energy to stir from his position, cheek pressed to the steady, comforting thrum of Goro’s heart.

“No,” another voice, clipped and feminine. “By all rights, they should both be dead, but—” Takemi sighs. “It looks like he’s going to make it out of this, somehow.”

“Sheer tenacity.” Futaba sounds fairly unbothered. “Joker’s always been like that. Good at getting out of things.”

“Good at sending me to an early grave,” Sojiro grumbles, and Akira can picture him rubbing his forehead in exasperation.

“He’s a hero.” That’s Makoto, quiet and unhurried. “He saved the world.”

“Right, right.” The mattress dips behind him with Sojiro’s fatigued weight. “A big damn hero. Half-dead and comatose for who knows how long. What a victory.”

“He will be okay,” Takemi insists. “The rebound from the curse is interacting predictably with his magic. He just needs rest now. I had them moved from the Tower because I thought it might be more...comfortable. The Bond is still stabilizing and they really shouldn’t be apart, but there’s nothing abnormal as far as I can tell.”

“Hopefully he’ll be more functional by the time the Barrier is dissolved,” Futaba hums. “I bet there’s gonna be a lot to deal with.”

“He gave me a few letters,” Makoto explains. “Before the attack—to send to his Kingdom. We weren’t sure what was going to happen, so he wanted to be prepared. One of them should work, in case he’s not well enough by then.”

“Sojiro, are you okay?” Futaba asks, concern suddenly sharp in her voice.

Sojiro’s rattling inhale punches right into Akira’s heart. “Yeah—” he says thickly. “Yeah, I’m just—”

“This is a lot to dump on you so quickly.” Makoto’s voice moves away. “And you all just arrived. You should get some rest. We’ll have plenty of time to discuss later.”

“What about it, boss?” Takemi asks. “Need a nap?”

Sojiro huffs. “No—I’m fine. I’m...I’m just going to stay here for a few minutes.”

Akira drifts through the whispered, rustling moment that follows, before a warm, familiar hand alights hesitantly on his shoulder, narrowing his cloudy focus to Sojiro’s coffee-scented presence.

“—really been through it, huh, kid?” Sojiro mutters. “All of you have. And I never—” he falters, grip tightening briefly, and Akira wishes he could throw off the freezing exhaustion holding him down and apologize for making Sojiro sound so _lost_, but then Sojiro is blowing out a rough chuckle. “Well, I’m here now. And I’ll be here whether you need me or not, got that?”

The touch retreats, but the warmth remains, swirling through him as Akira lets the even pattern of Goro’s heartbeat in his ear and the steadfast gravity of Sojiro at his side lull him back into nothingness.

* * *

“If I’m awake, why is he still—”

Takemi reaches forward and pinches Akira’s cheek hard, stilling his words. “You are not _awake_,” she corrects tartly. “You are experiencing longer periods of consciousness, but you are definitely not awake.” She sits back, retrieving her pen and making a note in the hard-bound journal in her lap. “And our sleeping prince was sick for weeks before you Bonded. Even though your magic is connected, you’re not literally sharing the same body.” Glancing up, she examines Akira critically. “It will take time for things to level out. Don’t rush it.”

Akira, propped up by a stack of pillows on the bed in Goro’s room, twists his fingers in his lap, eyes trained on Takemi’s sour expression to prevent his attention from wandering to the motionless figure at his side. Questions and fears tap insistently through his aching head, but he swallows them. Takemi has enough to deal with at the moment. “How is everything else?” he asks hoarsely.

Takemi purses her lips. The soft dawn light sifting through the half-open curtains backlights her dark hair, turning the edges purple, and even through the dim, Akira can see the shadows under her eyes. “Slow, but hopeful. Most of the recovering patients are at a stage similar to yours.” She sighs. “Though the former Archduke’s botched curse is definitely affecting you two differently, even now that the caster is gone.”

“Was he responsible for the bizarre spike in illness in Yongen?”

“No.” Takemi drums her pen against the open journal. “As near as I can tell, from the information I’ve been able to gather since all of—” she gestures vaguely at nothing, “—this took place, that was likely a natural escalation of the Darkening curse. Other towns were experiencing similar problems around the same time. I have a theory that it was reacting to the closer proximity of its caster and those effects were rippling outward, but now that he’s dead, I have no way to confirm.” She lifts an eyebrow. “You never saw deviation like that in your Kingdom?”

Akira’s fingers lock up. “No.” He presses his lips into a thin line. “The Darkening ravaged us like clockwork for two thousand years. No deviations.”

“Hm. Then I’d be willing to bet the abnormal symptom presentation was indeed a product of the curse closing in on the Capital.” Shaking her head, she flips her journal closed and uncrosses her legs. “Though it doesn’t matter. It’s over now. You shouldn’t worry about it anymore.”

_It’s over now_. Without looking down, Akira covers his left hand with his right. Though thoughts of the Darkening aren’t pleasant, and contemplating the state of his Kingdom, even now, fills him with anxious shame, he prefers that discomfort to the dark places his mind dwells when he loses track of it. In the twilight between sleep and wakefulness, there’s nowhere to hide. “Right.”

Takemi’s shrewd gaze rakes over him again before wandering to the other side of the bed. “Even though you’re in no condition to be moving around, I could allow you to move to a private room if you...find yourself getting distracted.”

Akira considers her words for a beat, inhaling the lingering scents that pervade the room. Goro’s frequent visits to the Archives always lent him the restful sweetness of old books, heightened by an electric ozone undercurrent that was uniquely him, and even the diluted notes that drift over Akira now ease his mind more than any Healing magic or sleep could manage. “Thank you, Tae,” he exhales. “But I can’t leave. I don’t know how much longer I—” he breaks off, lips twisting into a grim smile. “Perhaps I’m taking advantage of the situation, but I want to be with him as long as I’m able.”

The slant of Takemi’s mouth indicates she has more to say but she gives it up with a shake of her head. “Always so stubborn—” she mutters before glancing in the direction of the window. “Get some sleep. I’ll be back before you’re supposed to meet with that Count—what’s his name?”

“Yoshida.” Akira nods gratefully.

“You really shouldn’t be meeting with anyone.”

“Some things can’t wait, Tae.”

“Like I said.” She rises stiffly, casting him and his companion a last discerning look. “Stubborn.”

After the door clicks shut behind her, Akira rolls onto his side and presses his forehead against Goro’s arm. One hand lands heavily on Goro’s wrist. Every inch of Akira pines to curl around Goro completely, sink into the dormant presence glowing on the boundary of his magic, to press against him until the confines of their bodies dissolve, leaving only their gleaming, vulnerable cores.

But he restrains himself to the two small points of contact, unwilling to take more. It’s a hollow effort, after everything he’s already taken, but the thought of submitting to his desire makes guilt squirm in his chest.

“I’m sorry, my prince,” he rasps, thumb stroking over Goro’s sleeve as weariness crawls through his bones. “Just let me be weak for a little longer.”

* * *

Akira raps his knuckles against the door of Goro’s room.

“Come in,” a bright, cheerful voice answers from inside.

Dusky evening sunlight streams in through the parted curtains, dappling the room gold and throwing glittering highlights into Ann’s pigtails where she’s sitting cross-legged on the bed. “Hello, handsome,” she grins, glancing up. “You’re looking better.”

“Still look like a corpse to me.” Futaba doesn’t budge her focus from her book, lounging sideways in a chair next to the bed. “You’d look better if you actually rested like the Healers keep telling you to.”

“I feel fine,” Akira assures them, crossing the room. “That’s all that matters.”

“You say that, and then you fall asleep at breakfast and nearly give Sojiro a panic attack,” Futaba scolds without heat, cutting her eyes to him.

“You fall asleep at breakfast all the time.”

Futaba exchanges exasperated looks with Ann. The two of them had taken to each other instantly upon Futaba’s arrival to the Palace several weeks ago and Akira has scarcely seen them out of each other’s company since, usually alongside Makoto and Haru, though they’re both busy this evening. A weaker Fae might be concerned about the potential havoc the four of them together might wreak, but Akira has never objected to a little chaos. And when Sumire finally arrives, she’ll even them out.

“Where’s Shiho?” Akira asks, crossing to the bed. Ann’s bondmate is another fixture of the group, but her recovery is moving slower than Ann’s, so Akira doesn’t see her as much.

Ann preens. “Practicing. The Healers finally cleared her for dancing again. I was with her until a little while ago, but—” she turns her attention back to the little braid in her hands, proud expression softening. “I wanted to come see him.” The tiny bell at the end of the plait rings melodically as Ann releases it and smoothes her fingers through the rest of Goro’s hair, neatening it on the pillow around his serene face. "Even though I know he's fine, I don't feel right leaving him alone."

Akira understands only too well. Every moment he's not with Goro prickles uncomfortably under his skin.

“Though he probably wouldn’t appreciate the fussing,” Ann chuckles, gently brushing Goro’s bangs away from his closed eyes.

“He’d be grateful for your company, Ann,” Akira says honestly, settling on Goro’s other side, careful not to disturb the mattress too much.

“You’d know, wouldn’t you?” Futaba quirks a brow, wiggling one hand meaningfully.

“I don’t need that to know this.” Whether Futaba means his Touch or the long, broad scars snaking around Akira’s left hand, Akira doesn’t need any help to see the deep affection Ann and Goro hold for each other. It was obvious in Goro’s abrupt, freezing panic upon receiving her letter back in Yongen, and in the way Ann staggered into the Healing Tower a mere day after the curse was broken. Makoto rushed to support her but she pushed everyone aside to collapse beside her friend’s pale, unmoving figure. Even if Akira hadn’t known they were close already, there was no denying the desperate relief in Ann’s hitched sobs as she clung to Goro’s hand, nodding along with Haru’s hushed explanation of what happened.

Akira was barely awake enough to witness the scene, but even now the blurry memory of Ann’s grateful smile when she bent to kiss his cheek warms him.

“He’d probably be more grateful for you than for me, in any case,” Akira continues, tracing Goro’s peaceful features with his eyes.

“None of that,” Ann scolds, leaning over to swat Akira on the shoulder. “I won’t hear it. He’s stubborn but he’s not stupid.”

Akira smiles and doesn’t argue, but he laces his fingers in his lap against the temptation to reach out and take Goro’s gloved hand.

“But really—” Ann sighs, resting her chin on her palm and addressing Goro’s guileless form. “Stubborn is the right word. A month is far too long, your majesty.”

“It won’t be much longer,” Futaba pipes up, snapping her book closed and swinging around to sit properly in the chair. “Now that Joker’s up and about, Takemi said sleeping beauty shouldn’t be far behind.”

“But Healer Takemi said she’d never seen something quite like this,” Ann points out, a note of worry entering her voice. “What if she’s wrong?”

“Takemi is the best in the Faelands,” Akira assures her. “I asked her to come because I trust her implicitly. If she was unsure, she would tell us.”

Ann twists her mouth to the side but doesn’t protest.

“Don’t you have a meeting or something?” Futaba asks. “Reunifying the Kingdoms and all that?”

“Counselor Niijima took over for me,” Akira explains. “We were nearly done, anyway.”

“Got something else on your schedule?”

A smile tips the corner of Akira’s lips. “Yes, something very important.” Turning back to Ann, he inclines his head and rises. “My apologies, but the prince and I have an appointment.”

That loosens the anxiety from Ann’s expression and her eyes twinkle. “I understand.”

She shuffles backward and helps Akira carefully pull the blankets off of Goro’s still figure. For a beat, Akira hesitates, hands hovering in midair, but he steels himself and bends over, sliding his arms under Goro’s back and knees.

“Forgive me, my prince,” he whispers, cradling Goro’s head against his shoulder as he straightens up. Goro doesn’t respond and Akira spares a second of weakness to lean his cheek against Goro’s hair. Even compared to the last time Akira picked him up, Goro is lighter, almost frighteningly slight in his arms, but his breaths are even and the radiant warmth of his skin through their clothes flutters deep in Akira’s chest, growing closer with each passing day to the glowing sunlight Akira remembers.

Ann kneels on the edge of the bed and fusses with Goro’s hands for a second, making sure they’re folded comfortably on his stomach, before tucking the braid she wove behind Goro’s tapered ear. “I’ll join you two next time,” she promises, sitting back with a smile.

“You could join us now.”

She shakes her head, a knowing tilt to her brows. “I don’t fancy climbing all of those stairs tonight. You have fun, though!”

Akira nods gratefully and turns to go. Futaba rolls to her feet and skips past him to hold the door open, casting him a pointed look as he exits.

The halls are empty as he makes his way through the residential complex. Normally, the Palace Fae would be at the Lantern Banquet, but the festivities were cancelled this month to free up resources for more important matters, and it appears that everyone is using the chance to stay inside and recuperate. The past few weeks have been taxing and Akira understands the desire to take a break.

Aside from his forced period of convalescence, however, he can’t afford to rest. He doesn’t deserve to.

He tightens his grip reflexively around his precious cargo.

The Archival complex is similarly deserted, though the main Archives is untidy, materials still scattered across tables and pulled from shelves as a result of the frantic legislative sessions occurring every day. The meeting Akira left an hour ago was merely the latest in a long string of tense, complicated negotiations regarding governance and reunification. It’s necessary work, but Akira can hardly wait for the Unseelie envoy to arrive and remove some of his burden as the only Unseelie ambassador in the Summer Kingdom. Ryuji’s last letter indicated Maruki would be among the group and Akira is eager for his soothing, knowledgeable presence. Akira wasn’t trained to be a diplomat. He wasn’t even trained to outlive his mission. Negotiating on behalf of his entire nation is above his pay grade, but with help from Counselor Niijima and Count Yoshida, he’s managed up to this point.

Undoubtedly, Goro wouldn’t struggle with the responsibility, Akira muses for the millionth time as he mounts the long, winding staircase hidden at the back of the Archives. He would take to the task with astute professionalism, quickly absorbing even the most esoteric minutiae and leading the conversation in his favor with sharp words and a disarming smile.

The thought aches in the hollow behind Akira’s ribs.

The Celestial Tower isn’t empty when Akira rises into the highest chamber. At the sound of his footsteps, the young woman beside the telescope turns, silver hair swaying.

“Your highness,” Akira greets, dipping his head.

Queen Lavenza smiles. “Hello, my trickster.” The translucent wings on her back flare slightly before settling back against themselves, glimmering in the deepening evening light illuminating the room through the domed window. As the former King towered unnaturally, this tiny Queen’s magic manifests physically in a much gentler manner. “I knew I would meet you here.”

“Are you well enough to be out like this?”

Her reformation process had not been easy or painless, but she stands serenely before him now, and she gestures to herself. “I grow stronger every day.”

“I am relieved to hear it.”

“And you?” Light steps carry her across the room, her flowing blue robes drifting behind her as she approaches him. “I hear you have been busy.”

Akira meets her concerned golden gaze with a smile that’s only half-forced. “There is much to be done.”

“Indeed.” Pausing before him, Lavenza reaches out one waifish hand and casts Akira a questioning look. When Akira doesn’t object, she grazes her fingertips lightly over Goro’s cheek. “Much is not yet resolved,” she murmurs, trailing down the little braid in Goro’s hair. “And much has been lost.” Her lips press together. “You have lost...more than I can replace. And given more than I can repay.”

An echo of long-buried bitterness claws up the back of Akira’s throat. “It’s too late to be concerned over all of that.”

“Yes.” A shadow passes over Lavenza’s face. “Far too late.” The bell in Goro’s hair sings faintly as she lays the braid against his shoulder and steps back, clasping her hands. “I am sorry that I can’t do anything for him. Had I the same power as Yaldabaoth—”

“Then all of this would be for nothing,” Akira cuts her off, adjusting Goro in his arms. “Your magic is your magic, your highness. It is enough for what it needs to be.”

“How selfish of me—fishing for your comfort like this. You always know just how to soothe me, my trickster.”

When Lavenza was split into Caroline and Justine, she was a new Monarch, only recently installed, and still young by the standards of Fae with her innate magic. For two thousand years, she existed in a suspended state, divided between two heavily controlled puppets, unable to grow or learn, and now Akira can see the uncertainty behind her outward elegance. Even beyond her appearance, her youth is obvious. None of Akira’s ire is for her.

“I am happy to serve you, your highness.”

Her expression clears and she steps aside for Akira to move farther into the room. “Much has changed in two thousand years,” she remarks quietly as he passes her. “I remember coming here frequently with the Court Seers. And now the stars hover forgotten above us.”

“Not forgotten,” Akira corrects her. The little nest of blankets and cushions he arranged earlier is still where he left it in front of the telescope and he kneels smoothly. “Even after all of this time, some still seek them.” Carefully, Akira eases Goro down, tucking a pillow under his head and tidying his hair. Then he directs his hands away, folding them in his lap as he sits back on his heels. “Their value doesn’t lie solely in their usefulness,” he continues absently, eyes on the lavender cast of Goro’s pale skin under the sunset light. “And all Seelie love pretty things.”

Behind him, the aged floorboards creak softly. “I see,” Lavenza says. “That is heartening indeed.” After a moment of stillness, she takes a deep breath. “Rest tonight, little spider. The worst is over.”

“Thank you, your highness.”

She seems to hesitate for a beat before her footsteps sound on the hardwood and Akira hears her begin descending the stairs, her magical radius growing fainter and fainter, until Akira is alone in the dimming Celestial Tower.

Alone.

As the last rays of sunlight slip under the horizon, the gloom of True Night weighs heavy on Akira’s shoulders, shadows blurring the room out of focus, settling soft in the folds of Goro’s clothes. The chromatic stain of the sunset sinks away, replaced by cool, caressing starlight, and Akira can’t tear his gaze from the dark crescents of Goro’s eyelashes.

He swallows and the sound is deafening in the stagnant silence of the Tower.

“I apologize for dragging you all the way up here, my prince,” he starts, voice barely above a whisper. There’s no one here to really hear him, and yet the compulsion to speak moves his tongue. “But I remember...your affinity for the stars, and it—it’s been so long, I…I just....” Sighing, Akira screws his eyes shut and hangs his head, pressing the heel of his hand to his brow. “I don’t know,” he mumbles. “I don’t know what I’m doing.” He sucks in a trembling breath. “I just...I miss you.”

The words feel pathetic outside of his mouth, hanging petulantly in the air, and a spike of loneliness drives right into the ache under Akira’s ribs. He lays his hand over the vicious echo, spectral pain throbbing from the healing wound. According to Takemi, the injury is properly closed and well on its way to disappearing completely, but sometimes it hurts so much Akira can barely inhale, and he doesn’t think it has anything to do with the wound itself.

Gritting his teeth, Akira raises his head, and his eyes catch on Goro’s hands, wrapped protectively in a pair of pale leather gloves and resting on his stomach. Again, the loneliness spears through him, his whole body screaming to reach out and take Goro’s hand, so violently that he actually lurches forward, arm outstretched—

But the emerging starlight plays along the sinuous white scar coiled up his wrist and around his fingers and Akira freezes, his breath stalling in his lungs.

Hissing in frustration, Akira throws himself to the floor, flat on his back beside Goro, and glares up at the glittering sky.

_The worst is over_, Lavenza said. For a month, that’s all he’s heard. _It’s over. We’re saved. You did it._

_You won._

He wants to laugh. His whole life has led up to this moment, this impossible eventuality, and now that it’s here, he can’t even celebrate. The evil is purged and the Kingdoms are finally regaining balance and countless lives are saved but Akira feels no victory.

Above him, the stars shimmer in familiar patterns. In the Winter Kingdom, they were his near constant companions, shining with the same ubiquity as the Summer Kingdom’s twin suns, and he can draw their geometries in his sleep, list their names without a thought, and recount their myths as easily as he can wield a blade. He was intended not only as a liberator, after all, but as an ark. Should Chihaya’s vision be wrong, the Unseelie would die in silence behind the Barrier, leaving him as the only survivor, the sole legacy of his Kingdom, for however long the Summer Kingdom could withstand the Darkening. Like his classmates, his head is a haven of Unseelie history, mythology, literature, and culture, all just as precious as the honed weapon of his body.

Even now, he finds his eyes tracing the vague outline of the Lamia constellation, the action rote and familiar even months out of practice. According to his studies, the Seelie Fae used to know the names of the stars, and many of the names and stories were the same across both Kingdoms, but when Akira crossed the Barrier, he quickly discovered that the Seelie of this time hadn’t continued the tradition. With the Seers purged, the Seelie preferred to ignore the stars, and Akira vividly remembers the one time he slipped up and referred to a constellation by its name in front of Ohya, her clueless head tilt.

That, more than anything, reminded him how far from home he was. And when he turned his eyes to the stars each True Night, they never brought him comfort. Though they were visiting from his Kingdom, those cold, nameless lights were not _his_ stars.

Until he met Goro.

Running into the Archduke’s son on his first day at Court was truly a fortuitous coincidence. Akira almost wishes he was conniving enough to purposefully orchestrate such an encounter, but, while he had certainly heard of Goro Akechi, the unofficial prince of the Sunlit Court, his plans for getting close to the King were mostly centered around Yoshida and any connections he could make in the Nobility. He didn’t think he’d have any use for a sheltered Court pet with no official title, and even after their first meeting, he set aside his instinctive interest out of a sense of duty, but his careful machinations withered to dust when he trailed Goro up to the Celestial Tower for reasons even he couldn’t name.

Now, staring blankly up at the star-strewn sky through the clear ceiling, the image of the prince’s slim figure backlit by cool blue light flashes across his memory, seared into his eyelids so that every time he blinks, he’s visited by the fair gleam of Goro’s skin, the endless pools of his eyes, made ink by the nighttime shadows and glimmering with hundreds of constellations—and when Akira met his piercing gaze in the hush of the Tower, the stars reflected there finally felt like home.

After that, it was all over. There was no way he could just ignore Goro, but nor could he involve Goro in his plan. He was fortunate enough to find allies in Makoto and Haru, but revealing his true nature to Goro would place him in too much danger, despite how helpful it might be to have the Archduke’s son on his side. It was painfully obvious to Akira how the Archduke viewed Goro and how tightly reined Goro was at Court. Any slip-up would mean Goro’s death—of that, Akira had no doubt, and that was unacceptable. Even before leaving for Yongen, Akira was dismayed to find his priorities shifting; suddenly, his mission came after Goro’s life, and that could be incredibly dangerous.

The only solution was to kill the King _and_ keep Goro safe. Anything else was unthinkable.

Pressing his lips together, Akira cuts his eyes to Goro’s sleeping profile.

His decision to keep the truth from Goro to protect him nearly got them both killed. And though they both still breathe, the price Goro paid for Akira’s mistake….

Absently, Akira links his hands and drags a nail along the tender scar spiralling around his palm.

“If you ever speak to me again,” he whispers into the airless silence, his voice pulled from him by the fretful thudding of his heart, “I’ll give you the name of every star. Even when the sky is bright, they’ll live inside you and you’ll never be without them.” Turning his eyes back up, he traces Lamia again, not really seeing it. “I’d tear the sky itself down if you asked it of me.”

Goro always seemed cross at his grandiose declarations, but the words paled in comparison to the all-consuming devotion coursing through Akira like blood. No words could be enough to impart the way Akira’s very Heart reaches for Goro with an urgency that can’t be fought or ignored. Even the magic Akira used to seal the Barrier after crossing over was drawn to Goro, still resonating with its caster despite being separated from Akira’s physical form and nearly blowing his cover. Akira saw the way Goro reacted to touching the Barrier, and it was only by the grace of Goro’s inexperience and the approaching storm that Goro didn’t realize something was strange about how quickly the Barrier responded to him. Even mixed with and diluted by the existing enchantments, Akira’s magic latched onto Goro’s, driven to him as helplessly as Akira himself.

And the memory of the savage relief that sang through him when he finally surrendered to that call and reached for Goro’s magic to initiate the Bond echoes under his skin. He claws harder into the scar on his hand, nausea rolling through him.

Swallowing roughly, he forcefully removes his nails from his skin and extends his shaking arm above him. Framed against the sea of stars, his pale skin glows blue, ghastly and unnatural, but the backlighting nearly erases the long, constricting scar so he doesn’t have to see it as he places his index finger over the brightest speck on the indigo field stretching over them. “Titania is the origin point of all star maps,” he starts hoarsely, indicating the luminous central star. “The story goes that she created the Fae and then flew into the sky to serve as a guide for her children for all eternity. No matter how the sky shifts with the seasons, she is always visible, leading lost travelers east, toward the sunrise.” The mythology rises easily to his lips, drilled into him and his classmates at the Velvet Academy, and he trails his finger over the imaginary lines connecting a little clump of stars beside Titania. “Surrounding her are the sisters of fate. Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos measure the life of each Fae and wove Fortuna, the mother of Seers, from enchanted thread.”

As the familiar stories flow from his mouth, Akira drags his finger around the pictures they conjure, not listening, not seeing, speaking for the benefit _of someone who can’t even hear him. Foolish, desperate, and selfish. To be pitied. To be hated. Reviled. To be abandoned—to be—_

_And he deserves it. After what he did—there was no choice—no time, but what excuse can he give? How can he repay what he took? He can spend the rest of his life repenting—if Goro asks, he’ll beg on his knees until the day they die—together, on the same breath—condemned to eternity in this trap he never wanted to lay—but nothing will be enough._

_Goro’s hand is warm in his and he presses his forehead against the bare skin, savoring this last gasp of permission as the fevered memories bleed away, leaving nothing but his raw, ravenous core, still reaching greedy fingers across their Bond—desperate to touch—ugly and covetous and worshipful—_

* * *

Goro’s knees buckle, the memories igniting at the edges, curling back on themselves as Akira releases his hand, and he feels Akira surge to his feet, an arm catching him around the waist just before his legs fail completely.

“My prince—” the ragged whisper brushes over Goro’s lips, not touching, and Goro realizes his eyes are closed, his body humming with the echo of Akira’s true form.

He clutches at Akira’s shoulders, to stay upright, to stay against him, as the rest of Akira drains away from him, leaving only the quivering presence on the edge of his magic and the fierce need blazing in his chest. “Akira—” Goro gasps for breath, fingers twisting into the back of Akira’s tunic. “Akira—” He pries his eyes open and is met instantly by the gemstone glitter of blown-out obsidian and anything else he meant to say dies in his mouth.

Akira inhales shallowly, grip tightening around Goro’s middle, and tips his head forward to rest their brows together. Goro’s face is so flushed, Akira’s skin is marble against his, and as their Bond strums with relief, Goro can almost feel the luminous veins of Akira’s Heart branching through the barriers of their physical forms, seeking. In the center of his chest, Goro’s own Heart throbs brightly, reaching back.

“You—” Akira rasps, hands splayed along the length of Goro’s spine, “—are the only part of this that has been worth it.”

Swallowing, Goro slides his gloved hand up into Akira’s hair, cradling the back of his head. “Your mission—I saw—”

“Nearly as long as I can remember, I’ve been training to come here and die—” Akira murmurs, “—I was not expected to succeed, and, if I did, I was not expected to survive. I was a last, desperate prayer, and even I thought my task was hopeless.”

The ghost of Akira’s disillusionment pangs through him and Goro’s grip tenses.

“But you—” Akira chokes, “—changed everything. I wanted to save my people, and the family I found here—but you were the only thing I couldn’t lose—I couldn’t—”

“You did it,” Goro breathes, stomach twisting, “—you saved everyone. You saved me.”

Akira shakes his head, the wiry ends of his fringe tickling across Goro’s forehead. “All I wanted was to protect you, but I wasn’t—I wasn’t fast enough. I wasn’t enough.”

The Bond scar twinges and Goro fists his hand tighter into Akira’s tunic. “Akira, you saved my life.”

“I stole your life.” Akira’s voice is wretched, shaking, and the misery leeches through their connection to hang heavy on Goro’s ribs. “I wanted to give you...everything—but I’ve only become your next captor, Goro, I—I—”

Goro breaches the last few inches between them and catches Akira’s mouth with his own, silencing him on a muffled hum of surprise. Their Bond ripples with pleasure, stars flickering behind Goro’s eyes as he tilts his head and draws Akira against him, breathing in Akira’s cool, earthy scent.

For a beat, Akira just stands there, petrified, until Goro parts his lips and lets a soft, pleading noise escape into the contact. Then a tattered moan rips out of Akira’s throat, and suddenly he’s being kissed back with such fervor that his feet nearly leave the ground. Akira’s hold on his waist snakes completely around to crush Goro against his chest as Akira opens his mouth and drinks him in with teeth and tongue.

Some sliver of reason left in Goro’s addled mind reminds him to keep his bare hand off of Akira’s skin and he compensates by running his gloved fingers through Akira’s curls, petting and tugging. Akira’s fingertips press into his sides through his clothes, ten little points of electricity, and each motion of Akira’s mouth sends sparks colliding in the column of Goro’s spine. The satisfied thrill of their Bond sharpens into something savage, spearing desire right into Goro’s Heart and his legs fold under the onslaught.

Without releasing his mouth, Akira follows him down, thumping heavily to the floor and guiding Goro backwards as he crawls over him. Goro pants into the kiss, spreading his legs to give Akira room, pressing his knees against Akira’s sides to touch him as much as possible, and Akira bears down eagerly, slotting against him like a puzzle piece falling into place.

Heart thundering in his ears, Goro arches his back, clutching Akira closer, and slides their tongues together. Akira answers by cupping his face in both hands and holding him still for a deep, lingering lick behind his teeth that sends heat shooting into Goro’s core.

Goro shivers and throws his head back, breaking the kiss to gasp for air, and Akira doesn’t hesitate to latch onto the sensitive skin under Goro’s jaw, pressing hard, reverent kisses down his throat. A scrape of teeth over his pulse point has Goro clutching at Akira’s tunic, trying to anchor himself against the sparkling need flooding his body.

“Goro—Goro—” Akira tucks his face into the crook of Goro’s neck, chest heaving, “—I’m sorry—I’m so...I’m so sorry—”

Goro digs the nails of his bare hand into Akira’s shoulder, hissing, “Don’t apologize—”

“I wanted to give you your freedom—I wanted you to be able to choose—” Akira strokes through Goro’s hair restlessly. “I never wanted to...to chain you to me like this—”

“The Bond must go both ways, Akira—” Goro presses his cheek to Akira’s temple, soaking up the welcoming non-heat of his skin, “—it won’t work without matching intent—”

“But I—” Akira chokes, and Goro feels a frigid line of moisture drip down the side of his neck, “—I forced you into that choice—for my own selfishness. I couldn’t allow you to die, but trapping you—”

“If I am trapped, then you are trapped with me. Chained together for the rest of our lives.” The prospect stretches in front of him, written in the incandescent lines of the heavens above, and Goro gazes unblinkingly, struggling to comprehend the enormity. “Do you regret it?”

Going rigid, Akira lifts himself up and meets Goro’s eyes with an intense, glistening stare. “How could I?” A tear trails down his cheek, gathering heavy on his jaw and glittering like a tiny star. “You saw my mind—you saw—”

“I saw—” With a gloved fingertip, Goro carefully dabs the tear away, schooling himself through the unfamiliar gentleness, “—your loneliness, and your loss, and your grief. I saw the way you blame yourself. I saw the name of every star in the sky. And I saw myself, through you, as you see me.” Goro’s throat closes up, strangling his words as he blinks up at Akira, but he swallows and lets a watery smile shine through. “You risked everything to save me. Over and over. And I wish I had seen it sooner, I wish—” he fits his palm against Akira’s cheek, “—I could have been there for you.”

“You were,” Akira protests softly. “You gave me everything.” He searches Goro’s face. “Do you regret it?”

There’s no room for doubt, after what Goro saw in Akira’s memories, and now, caught in the fervid beam of Akira’s gaze—and with the undeniable truth coiling possessively around Goro’s Heart—Goro feels strained, wrung. He’s never grappled with these kinds of emotions before and he struggles against the instinct to reject them as duplicitous tricks. But their Bond strums blissfully, pooling Akira’s radiant affection into the hollow of Goro’s chest, and when he breathes in, the glow ignites through his whole body.

“How could I?” he echoes, speaking the light into the space between them. “It’s—amazing. Being loved that much.”

For a single, hovering heartbeat, Akira stares, backlit by the luminous sky.

Then their Bond _sings_ through Goro in a gleaming chorus of delirious ardor as Akira dips back down to seal their lips together. Goro presses up to meet him, sighing into the kiss, relief warm in his core.

Akira scoops his arms underneath Goro, rolling them sideways, and when the world rights itself, Goro is looking down into Akira’s eyes. He barely has time to note the hundreds of stars glinting in Akira’s heavy-lidded slate gaze before Akira is tugging him back down, claiming his mouth again.

He’ll have other chances to see the stars, Goro reasons, letting his eyes drift closed and parting his lips for Akira’s seeking tongue. Hundreds of chances. Thousands. Until he knows their names and shapes by heart. Until they live inside him as comfortably as the Bond, humming and shining and endless.

* * *

“—honestly, I think a complete overhaul is in order.” Goro slides his pawn forward and watches Akira’s eyes narrow. “Even if we divide the power up among several Archdukes like we reportedly used to, the system is far too easy to abuse. All it would take is one individual gaining the Monarch’s favor, and the balance would be undermined. Not to cast aspersions on you, your highness—” Goro directs at the girl sitting primly on the settee.

Queen Lavenza smiles, careful not to move and upset Ann’s careful braiding and pinning. “Your words are wise. Even I am not immune to the fallibility of the heart.”

The high sunlight slants through the windows of his room, illuminating the half-finished chess game standing between Goro and Akira and carding silvery beams through Akira’s dark hair as he sits forward, eyeing the board with a finger pressed to his chin. Beneath the small table, Goro feels Akira’s foot hook around his ankle.

“Thought you’d be all for keeping the Archduke position.” Ryuji, one of Akira’s cohorts from the Unseelie envoy, rests his head on his folded arms, draped over his backwards chair as he observes the game with negligible enthusiasm. “Since you’d probably be next in line, right?”

“My father never named me his successor,” Goro responds coolly, pressing against Akira’s foot to hurry him along. “I had no claim to the title.”

“He was your real father but he still didn’t name you his successor?” Futaba wonders aloud, not turning around as she browses the bookshelf next to Goro’s desk. “Cold.”

“Haru’s father didn’t grant her a title,” Makoto points out, perched beside Ann on the settee and scanning the room bemusedly. “Nobles are often hesitant to confront the possibility of passing on their power.”

Haru shrugs disinterestedly from her spot on the floor, sorting through a stack of complicated-looking tables and growth charts. “I never really wanted to be a Duchess anyway.” She smiles brightly. “I’m much more interested in what you’ve told me about the Unseelie’s Chamber of Representatives.”

Two thousand years of isolation and plague had apparently led to major upheavals in the Unseelie government. With their King barely clinging to life and the population declining rapidly and erratically, the Starlit Court and Council, previously very similar to that of the Sunlit Court, was forced to abolish the Nobility system, switching instead to a representative democracy. When anyone can be struck by a fatal disease at any time, leaving the governance of entire counties to one family line simply wasn’t tenable. Official channels needed to be established to efficiently replace anyone who caught the Darkening. Representatives have multiple deputies and, according to Akira, the Chamber personnel was in constant flux.

“Yes, it proved very effective.” Yusuke, another of Akira’s old classmates, doesn’t look up from the bound sheaf of paper he’s sketching on. He’s sitting in a chair beside Ryuji, and as his hand sweeps over the page, the sunlight drifts over the neat scars striping his skin. “Even now that he’s recovering, King Igor wants to keep the system.”

The Unseelie King was the first victim of the Darkening, back before Yaldabaoth was King of the Seelie, when he was first setting his plan into motion. Monarchs are leagues more powerful than the average Fae, so the curse could only chip away at his magic slowly, but once it was cast, it spread throughout the entire Winter Kingdom, all while Yaldabaoth was enacting the other part of his scheme: usurping Lavenza. Using the panic of the Darkening beginning to seep past the border between the Kingdoms, he tricked his way into the Court and split the new Monarch’s true form in half, confining each part in a physical body to keep them from reuniting. The spells used to do so were ancient and dark, nearly lost to time before Yaldabaoth dragged them out of an Archives in the Outlands, and the effects were devastating.

Goro doesn’t know if Yaldabaoth predicted the repercussions of dividing the Queen, but they certainly helped him with his ruse. The Monarch is a being tied irrevocably into the magic of the Kingdom. The crown can’t be passed through lineage or succession; only the land itself can choose its Monarch. So when Yaldabaoth split Lavenza, that mutilation cascaded throughout the entire Kingdom, altering memory and wiping the Queen’s very name from the public perception. After that, all Yaldabaoth had to do was engineer the burning of the Archives and manipulate any Fae who might be around long enough to raise questions to their deaths through various means.

Even now, two months after Yaldabaoth’s defeat, the Kingdom is in uproar, trying to reconcile the past 2,000 years it lost to a false King and its returning perception of the true ruler. Lavenza hasn’t made many public appearances since coming back, but the Kingdom’s relief at having her back is palpable. It’s strange, Goro muses, eyeing the young girl laughing softly with Ann. Her mere presence seems to have lifted a fog he wasn’t even aware of, and now that he can see clearly, he understands how blind he was.

The gentle clack of a piece settling on the chessboard pulls Goro out of his thoughts and he examines Akira’s move with a raised eyebrow.

Ryuji lets out a long sigh, scrubbing a hand through his short, dyed hair. “I don’t wanna hear about government stuff,” he grumbles. “That’s all we’re talking about back home too. I’m sick of it.” He swings his arm down to dangle over the back of his chair, putting the scars crossing his own hand on display, and Goro spies Akira glancing over at them, expression unreadable.

With the Unseelie envoy came a lot of new information, about the situation in the Winter Kingdom, the changes to their government, and news regarding the friends and allies Akira left behind. Goro tried not to press, but over the past few weeks, his curiosity routinely got the best of him, and Akira never begrudged sharing the details of his previous life with him. The revelations were illuminating, to say the least.

While Goro was scurrying after Shido and smiling blankly through Lantern Banquets, Akira was essentially being sold by his parents to the Velvet Academy, an institution designed solely to rear young Fae for a single purpose: infiltrate the Summer Kingdom and uncover the cause of the Darkening. He and his classmates were rigorously trained for years until, ultimately, Akira’s naturally strong barrier magic set him apart as the best choice. More than one agent might alert the hostile Seelie government right away, so Akira would be alone once he carved a path through the Barrier and sealed it behind himself.

Goro got shades of the full story when Akira showed him his memories, but that Touch was so brief compared to the length and depth of this nightmare, and every new terrible detail sends Goro’s head spinning. He never could have imagined that Bonding had become common practice in the Winter Kingdom as a tactic to slow the Darkening’s progression. Wealthy Unseelie who found themselves afflicted would pay for healthy partners to Bond with, and it was normal for friends or family members to Bond at the first sign of illness. Anything to give their loved ones more time. Once he learned that, Akira’s pinched expression at seeing the matching scars on Ryuji and Yusuke’s hands when they emerged from the envoy’s line of carriages made frightening sense.

It’s poetic, truly. During the War, so many Seelie were killed that the Court grew to view Bonding as an unnecessary risk, but when the Unseelie were trapped alone with horrific devastation, they turned to Bonding as a salvation, a meager hope in a sea of despair. Despite the certain doom that awaited the healthy halves of every Bond, the Unseelie culture generally embraced the sacrifice for what it was: an act of supreme love. Not foolish, or senseless, but beautiful.

Of course, Ryuji had been just as startled at the sight of Akira’s scars once he was done squeezing Akira to within an inch of his life. In the ensuing weeks, he’s warmed somewhat to Goro, but Goro can sense his suspicion, as well as Yusuke’s; however, neither of them baulk at the amount of time Akira and Goro spend together, and they seem perfectly content now, whiling away the afternoon in Goro’s room. And Ann took to them instantly, quickly finding an easy rapport with her Unseelie peers, and Goro can’t dislike anything that makes Ann happy.

Like now, she snorts inelegantly, leaning around Lavenza. “Then why did you come with a _political_ envoy?”

“Ryuji was quite desperate to see Akira,” Yusuke answers smoothly. “Even though we are not heavily involved in politics, Representative Maruki encouraged us to come, since it will be some time before Akira can return home.” Keen eyes dart up from his sketch to fix on Goro. “If, indeed, he ever desires to.”

“I was not _desperate_,” Ryuji objects.

Goro covers the hasty thumping of his heart by capturing Akira’s bishop. It will be some time before Goro is well enough to travel, and even though the Bond is stable enough that Akira can leave if he so wishes, Goro doesn’t even have to ask to know that he wouldn’t.

“I missed you too, Ryuji,” Akira says placidly. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Well—” Ryuji turns away bashfully, rubbing the back of his neck as he tries and fails to hide a smile. “Anyway—Sumire was definitely more eager than me. When we realized the Barrier was dissolving, we had to talk her out of riding over right away. We weren’t even sure if you were still...you know….” he trails off, frowning out the window.

For someone from a culture that’s grown accustomed to death, Ryuji seems oddly cagey when the topic of Akira’s suicide mission comes up. From the way Akira speaks about it, the chances of him surviving were never even really considered, so when he left, his friends must have thought that was the last they’d ever see of him. And yet here he sits, dark and shining and sliding his queen right into Goro’s ambush. Goro can’t profess to know what the others are thinking, but he suspects they and Akira will have a lot to talk about once things calm down.

“Professor Kawakami was also anxious to see you,” Yusuke continues blithely, returning to his drawing. “She mentioned that she might come within the next few weeks, along with Seer Chihaya.”

“All of our Unseelie brethren are welcome here,” Lavenza says. “Especially friends of my trickster.”

“Tell her to come right away!” Futaba chirps, spinning around and clapping her hands. “I want to meet another Seer _so_ much. Do you think she’d be willing to teach me?”

“Chihaya would be thrilled,” Akira responds. “While Sight hasn’t completely died from the Winter Kingdom, Seers are rare. Chihaya is the only one I’ve ever met, and I know she’d love to share her knowledge with you.”

Futaba bobs excitedly on the balls of her feet.

Yaldabaoth’s division of the Kingdoms disrupted the natural flow of magic, leading to the instability and dissolution of the Sight Art, and he purged any lingering Seers for fear of discovery. The Winter Kingdom, with its near constant blanket of stars, managed to sustain the Art through the years, though in a limited fashion, and it was apparently a garbled vision from Chihaya back when she was a child that revealed the source of the Darkening to be somewhere within the Sunlit Court, which led to the founding of the Velvet Academy. Then, when Akira crossed over, he had the blinding luck to run into another Seer and learn that the King, specifically, was to blame.

When Goro heard that, he couldn’t help but marvel at Akira’s good fortune. He is truly a man loved by fate, as the Queen so eloquently put it. Had anyone else been selected for his mission, the Faelands would be lost.

Shaking his head at the thought, Goro swiftly steals Akira’s queen. The savior of the Faelands is still more or less hopeless at chess. “Check.”

Akira scans the board with furrowed brows, enclosing one of Goro’s feet with both of his own under the table. “Hm.”

“Do you concede?”

“No.” Akira sits forward. “Let me think.”

“Well, hurry up. We don’t have much longer.” Goro leans his cheek on his fist, watching the gears in Akira’s head turn. The presence on the edge of his magic, more reserved but still glowing and comforting now that the Bond is stabilized, hums contentedly despite the fact that Akira is definitely going to lose. “Perhaps I should take over for Hifumi as your chess instructor.”

Sly eyes flick up to lock with his. “I wouldn’t mind.”

“I know you wouldn’t.”

“We can fit some games in around our other lessons.” Akira taps his fingers meaningfully against the tabletop and Goro mimics him unconsciously with his free hand.

Motivated by the desire to have his Bond mark on display like Akira’s, Goro urged Akira to start teaching him to control his Touch. Akira was hesitant—Goro is still unwell, after all, but Goro was determined. They’ve been progressing slowly but steadily, practicing after settling down for bed, curled up beside each other and trading light touches as Goro focuses on reining his Art. Goro isn’t nearly confident enough to keep his gloves off, but Akira seems pleased at his growth, praising his natural talent until Goro’s ears are burning and he has to stuff a pillow in Akira’s face to make him stop.

Unlike Sight, Touch didn’t disappear due to outside meddling; magic simply fades over time, and as Fae became more individualistic, the Art of Touch gradually fell out of use. It’s still more common in the Winter Kingdom, having resurged slightly when the Unseelie closed ranks and banded together against the Darkening, but even Akira thought it had completely vanished from the Seelie. To have met possibly the only living Seelie with the Art is just another point to Akira’s absurd luck, though Goro is the one benefiting more this time.

“We’ll see.” Goro shifts his foot pointedly against Akira’s. “Stop stalling.”

“Yes, my prince.” Akira drags his toe around Goro’s ankle in a slow, deliberate slide, and Goro suppresses a shiver.

The others babble ambiently in the background, something about Haru’s new garden, but Goro can’t look away from the serious tilt of Akira’s brows, the canny glitter of his eyes. Pursing his lips, Akira moves his last knight, and almost before his fingers leave the piece, Goro is reaching forward to close his trap.

“Checkmate.” Goro topples Akira’s king and it clatters softly onto the board. “I win.”

Akira eyes the downed piece before lifting his gaze to meet Goro’s, a pleased smile hovering on his face to match the happy buzz of their Bond. “Masterfully played, my prince.”

“I do enjoy outsmarting you at something.”

“I’ll get you next time.”

Goro retrieves Akira’s king and balances it between his hands, tracing his thumb over the ornately carved wood with an answering smirk. “It’ll be boring if you don’t try.”

Something flashes in the depths of Akira’s stare but before he can do anything, his attention is drawn by the door clicking open.

“Akira—?” The questioning voice cuts off as a mousy redhead peeks hesitantly into the room. “Oh!” Sumire steps into the doorway, looking contrite. “You’re all in here! I apologize—I should have knocked.”

“No worries, Sumi,” Ann assures, waving the girl inside. “We weren’t trying to leave you out—everyone just showed up on their own.”

“It’s alright,” Sumire smiles. “We’re all meeting up for the Lantern Banquet later, right?”

A chorus of affirmations bounces around the room and Sumire clasps her hands in front of her. Her left is wrapped in a dark leather glove, and Akira briefly explained that she wears it to hide the gnarled scars of a failed Bond mark. When Sumire’s twin sister caught the Darkening, she attempted to initiate a Bonding, but her sister rejected it, leaving Sumire with a nasty rebound wound, but alive. She’s not ashamed of the story, Akira promised, but the scar is alarming and she prefers to keep it out of sight.

“Did you find them?” A tall Fae man appears in the doorway behind Sumire, his dark chestnut hair and official-looking robes in similar states of disarray. “Oh, guess so,” he chuckles, scanning the assembled group. “We should have checked here first.”

“Representative Maruki,” Lavenza greets, rising smoothly and gingerly patting her new hairstyle. “I assume you’re here to collect us for the meeting. I apologize for losing track of time.”

“No, no—” Maruki waves dismissively. “It’s not like it can start without you, your highness.” He glances over at the window, where Akira and Goro are situated. “Or you two.”

Akira nods and begins resetting the chess board as the others stand, stretching and chatting. Goro slots the king piece back onto its square.

“Meet in the courtyard outside this room tonight,” Ann reminds everyone. “And dress to dance!”

Ryuji groans.

Ann scowls. “Well, no one’s begging you to come.”

Haru laughs demurely and Makoto starts shepherding everyone out of the room, fielding a question from Futaba about what games will be at the Banquet. Maruki shoots Akira a salute as he’s shuffled out of the doorway in the bustle, and Goro sees Akira wave back as he rises from his chair.

Akira rounds the table and adjusts the shawl over Goro’s shoulders while the noise gradually fades from the room. Goro endures the fussing gamely until Akira steps back and offers his hand with a teasing half-bow. “My prince.”

Rolling his eyes fondly, Goro lifts his hand, but before he can place it in Akira’s, he pauses, considering his glove. Making a decision, Goro grips the leather at the tip of his left middle finger and tugs, sliding it off in one smooth motion.

Exposed to the sun, his Bond mark glows white against his already fair skin, coiling around his fingers and down into his sleeve. At this angle, he can see Akira’s mirrored mark, contrasting less against his even paler skin but striking all the same, and a rush of emotion pulses through him. Relief and trepidation and excitement swirl together at the sight of the matching scars, just as fresh and vivid as the first time he saw them, followed by a warm beam of pride. Distantly, he wonders if he’ll ever get used to seeing it, if the torrent of emotion will ever settle into a mellow rain, pattering serenely into the constant, affectionate pool of the Bond. Perhaps after years of looking at them, decades or centuries, his reaction will calm, but until then all he can do is let himself be washed along with the tide.

Akira raises his eyebrows but doesn’t say anything, his playful grin softening into something unbearably sweet.

Inhaling deeply to center himself, Goro carefully lowers his palm against Akira’s, bare skin to bare skin. The contact sparks along his magic, but Goro breathes through the instinctive pull of his Touch trying to latch onto Akira’s true form, feeling for the edges of the Art and drawing them back into himself like Akira’s taught him. After a heartbeat of focus, Goro is still alone in his head—except, of course, for the Bond purring joyfully between them, and Akira’s fingers curl around his, cool and claiming.

Steadying his legs under himself, Goro allows Akira to pull him to his feet.

Akira presses against Goro’s side and tucks Goro’s hand into the crook of his elbow, covering it with his own. “We’re meeting in the Council assembly hall, right?” he asks, voice low.

Slipping his glove into the pocket of his outer robe, Goro nods.

“And where is that, again?”

Flashing Akira a wry look, Goro places his free hand on Akira’s arm. “How long have you been going to these meetings?”

Akira shrugs sheepishly. “We usually meet in the Court chamber. The Palace is so big and I’m afraid I’m still not very familiar with all of its twists and turns.” An impish smile angles the corners of his lips. “Would you be so kind as to show me the way?”

Goro laughs rudely. “You think you’re so coy.”

Smile unwavering, Akira tips his head to nose at Goro’s cheek. “Please?” he murmurs. “I need your guidance, my prince.”

“Oh, very well,” Goro concedes, aiming for indifference despite the tender fluttering of his heart, and he starts forward, pulling Akira along. “Follow me, fool.”

Like the Kingdoms, he’s still recovering, still struggling to regain what he lost, but as Akira supports him through the corridors, giving himself willingly and unconditionally with each patient stride, their Bond sings in perfect harmony, mending everything he’s missing.

“My hero,” Akira whispers. “I'm lucky to have met you.”

Another laugh trips out of Goro’s mouth, gentler this time. He steers them toward an open-air passage, and Akira, bare fingers tangled with his, steps beside him into the sunlight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that's the end! a few notes, if you'll indulge me:
> 
> -i'm disappointed that i couldn't work Morgana in. i started writing this with a vague idea of what was up with him, but i realized too late that my plan would complicate the lore too much so i had to cut him :( sorry, Morgana, i love you.  
-if i ever mentioned a moon in the night sky, ignore that lol the Faelands have no moon, and i've known that from the start but my brain is full of fun dip.  
-i never explained what a "Weaver" is, but they're basically Fae who invent new spells. it doesn't really matter (obviously, since i forgot it), but i don't want anyone to be confused.  
-speaking of confused: this fic is going to be getting a comprehensive edit now that it's complete. i've mentioned this before, but this fic was originally going to be much much much shorter and i started writing with a much less involved plot in mind. i included some stuff early on that aligns with my initial outline but became irrelevant or even wrong as the story developed, so i want to go back and reshape things a little. i won't be changing anything too major, but i will be adjusting details and possibly adding a bit to better seed some of the later plot developments. this won't happen right away though lol i'm going to take a break from this fic for a while, but just know that things might shift a little at some point.
> 
> on a more personal note: i started writing this at a pretty low point in my life. i was working at a job that i hated and i would stay sane during my shifts by writing on this on the store laptop. i had other WIPs, but this one quickly emerged as one of the most artistically fulfilling things i'd ever attempted. it's currently the longest fic i've completed and i'm insanely proud of it and myself. when i realized it was really over, i cried. i'm going to miss living in this strange, high fantasy-faeverse hybrid world that i basically made up as i went along, and i hope you all enjoyed it as much as i did. shuake and all of these characters mean a lot to me and i'm so happy i got to show them this much love. i'm also beyond grateful to all of you for coming on this journey with me, for all of the comments and kudos and support. writing can be a chore sometimes, but i was never happier than when i was working on this, and you're a big part of that. thank you, truly, from the bottom of my heart.
> 
> if you want to keep up with what i'm working on, follow me on [tumblr](https://mistresseast.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/MistressEast). i've got my thumbs in several pies at the moment, but it doesn't look like my interest in shuake is going anywhere.
> 
> again, thank you. i'll never be able to say it enough. thank you <3


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